


Perceptions

by sparrow2000



Series: Perceptions 'verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the start of my Perceptions 'verse which is a rewrite of the second half of S3 and all of S4 of Buffy. There are three large, multi-part stories in the 'verse and yes, this is S/X - although this first story gets us there slowly and starts with Spike unexpectedly coming to Sunnydale on business prior to 'Lover's Walk'. He spots Xander and Willow sneaking about and that makes our nosy neighbourhood vampire all kinds of curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perceptions Prologue: False Idol

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et all own all. I own nothing and make no profit from this story.  
> Any music referenced in this story is done so with the greatest respect for the composer. Again, no profit is made.
> 
> The Perceptions 'verse was the first thing I started writing after a writing hiatus of over 20 years. It was interesting to me to see how developed over the two years this 'verse took to write.
> 
> As always comments are cherished. You could leave them here or anywhere on the Perceptions entries at my LJ right [here...](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sparrow2000&keyword=Perceptions&filter=all)
> 
>  

__  
**Perceptions Prologue: False Idol**   
  


Beta extraordinaire: [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/) _Because this is the ficlet that sparked off the Perceptions series, it seemed appropriate to make it an kind of unofficial prologue to the series. I hope it gives an insight into Xander's state of mind and his relationship with Willow at the start of the series, and why he might just be a little bit receptive when a certain vamp comes to town_

Stupid boy.

Stand up, dust down, don’t cry, don’t speak.

Don’t exist.

I hide, not wanting to be noticed, not wanting to be seen, because seeing leads to questions and questions lead to answers which float unnoticed above heads and clipboards and endless questionnaires. Why expend the effort if effort leads to red pens and report cards and ducking down back corridors and being late to class again.

Stupid, useless, pull your socks up boy.

Then out of the blue there’s Willow eyes,

Wanting to help, needing to correct and mend and tick the boxes of reassurance and normality. She lays the foundations for a future of egocentric altruism and hey maybe I do listen to Giles sometimes, but I have to follow the hints and the clues and the nudges because of course I wouldn’t work it out any other way.

Why does she think I’m stupid; have I given her so much reason with my jokes and my grins that she thinks I can’t see how screwed things are. Do I need this little trail of breadcrumbs to lure me into a beautiful shiny Willow light?

I feel my world shift and she sits there like the lure of a bird of prey, wanting my gratitude and my devotion. Perhaps this is my sacrifice and I have nothing else to give.

She whispers in my head. Let me heal you, let me take care of you and you can be like me and be with me. Isn’t that what you want. Please Xander, tell me that’s what you want.


	2. Perceptions Prologue: False Idol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trouble with insurance policies is that everyone forgets to read the small print.

__  
**Perceptions 1: Small Print**  
  


Bloody loan sharks. No sense of honour. Won’t take a bloke’s word that they’re good for the cash. Should never have done a deal on the Hellmouth. Not after last time. Should have known it would go sour. A whole sodding week, kicking my heels, waiting for the green to come through. Keeping my head down, avoiding the Slayer – again! A whole damn week of pure bloody boredom, while Dru gets up to god knows what! What’s the point of being on the Hellmouth if a vamp can’t create a little mayhem?

Well, hello there. What do we have here? Red and the boy, all flushed and sweaty. They’ve got guilt written all over them. Looks like the little chickens are straying from the coop. This could get entertaining. Maybe this fox can find a bit of fun to pass the time after all.

I reach for another cigarette and move a little closer.

*******

“Will, it was a fluke. My tux, your dress, our hormones. We just got carried away. But it was a mistake. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. Please, I don’t want to lose you as a friend. But you know this can’t go any further.” His words are all frantic. Tumbling and stuttering with confusion and want. It’s delicious “You’ve got Oz and I’ve got Cordy and that’s the way it fits. God, for once we’re both members of the cool crowd. Okay, honorary members, but still. Who’d have thought? I love you Will, but please, let’s not ruin what we have.”

I watch the boy as his hand strokes across her neck. He’s so damn moral it makes my fangs itch, but he’s definitely a pretty piece. Wouldn’t mind doing a bit of stroking myself. My fingers flex, wanting to grasp hold of skin and bone and sink teeth deep into hot sweet flesh.

*******

They can’t leave each other alone. Guilt and shame and lust - it builds and gasps and hangs in the air. Nectar. I want a taste.

“We shouldn’t.” She’s whispering, breathless and ashamed. “I have late study, and Oz is waiting.“ She whimpers quietly as fingers dance across her stomach and down her back.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Will?” His mouth is so close to her ear. “I’ll walk away and we’ll still be friends. We will still be friends?”

Little slut. Playing both ends against the middle. I have to admire her strategy. Her game plan. Poor little mouse, so tired of not being noticed and suddenly she’s got two boys hot for her. Satellites to her destructive little sun.

*******

“We can’t do this anymore. I look at Cordy and just feel so torn. It’s not fair to her, or to Oz. I don’t want to hurt them and I don’t want to lose you. When did it get so confused?”

He sounds so desperate and she’s petting him. Whispering reassurances in his ear. “It’ll be alright. We’re friends. Friends who love each other. It’s just our way of showing it. No one needs to know. It’s our secret.”

I watch his struggling. But fighting needs effort and thought and she’s looking at him, wide eyed and innocent. He’s going to lose.

*******

They’re under the bleachers, groping in the twilight. Bloody American teenagers, so damn predictable. The boy’s fingers are in her hair - worshipping the fire gods in every strand. Nursing the passion and the wrongness running under her skin. Seeing her for the first time as a real girl. Not a best friend, not a partner in crime. Just Willow, glowing.

“God, Will. You’re so beautiful. Don’t know how I was so stupid. Couldn’t see what was in front of my nose.”

Oh please, who writes his script? Be original already!

His fingers are splayed across soft skin. Pale, beautiful skin. Skin I’m just itching to taste.

*******

She’s with the wolf tonight. I can smell him in the air. Hot, thick scent. Need and want and barely-there restraint. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s playing with. Fire and passion and control. Wolves want family and faithfulness and she’s playing the angles. Stupid little girl.

I can’t wait to see the fallout.

*******

It’s Friday night and that means freedom. It’s funny how some things never change. They’re playing footsy under the table, watching their little friends dance to something plastic. A game of truth or dare could hardly be more risky. They thrive on the danger and the wrongness. The wolf walks in and stops. He knows - something. Their hypocrisy turns my stomach. I may be evil, but at least I was faithful to Dru. So much for the white hats. I could shop them to wolf boy and the prom queen.

Now there’s a thought?

*******

Another night at the Bronze. God, don’t they have anywhere else to go. Different crowd, same plastic.

I’m still watching the wolf. I’m sure he knows. He’s walking towards them and I can see distrust in every movement.

She sees him coming and smiles. “Hey, what’s up?” She looks chirpy and perky and all the other words associated with behaviour which shouldn’t be allowed before a decent time of night.

“I was looking for you.” She starts to answer and he cuts her off. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me?” She tries for innocent, and just looks guilty as hell. “Is it the wolf, or the band, or the silences, or is it something else I don’t get?” He’s struggling for control and I want to egg him on. Bugger control, I want a little chaos. “I’m sorry Willow, I love you, but I don’t share.”

The boy is standing off to the side. Watching events. Gauging his involvement and his fault.

*******

“Willow, are you okay? What happened? “ Official White Knight mode – press button one. He’s scrabbling for a tissue, desperate to help. “What’s up with Oz? What happened?”

“He left me. He didn’t really say why, not in so many words.” She’s sobbing now, hanging onto his shirt, clinging like a limpet.

If I were him, I’d run like hell.

*******

He walks her home. Hovers, concern in every word and gesture. “I’m sorry about you and Oz, really I am.” He actually sounds sincere. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped it, I knew it was wrong.” She looks at him, confused for a moment and I see her eyes turn predatory. I hope to Christ no moron ever tries to turn her.

“Well, Oz and me? Maybe not such good news, I kind of knew it was coming, though. Him wolfie, me Jane. It was probably never going to work.” She’s looking at him from under tear stained lashes. And I thought I was evil.

She’s searching for words, for once. Reaching for the right tone, the right phrase, the right bait. “I suppose there is an upside.” She’s smiling at him, such a brave little soldier. “No more skulking around for us. That has to be a bonus, right?”

“But Will, what about Cordy?” He’s on the back foot and he doesn’t even know it, yet. “I mean, I still have to think about her. And before you say anything, I know I should have thought about her before. It just all happened so fast, this thing with us. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone and I’m going to end up hurting everyone. We need to stop this now, before anyone else gets caught in the crossfire.”

“No!” Suddenly she’s in his face, hysterical. “It won’t stop. I won’t let it. You can’t leave me. You both promised – you and Jesse. You said you’d never leave me. You’re all I’ve got left. You can’t break your promise.” She’s crying again and he’s staring at her, confused and just a little scared. This is better than going to the circus and I think this clown might just get eaten.

“Willow….” He starts to reason with her, to push past the emotional blackmail, but she’s way past that.

“It doesn’t stop ‘til I say so. I won’t let it.” She’s looking up at him again, tears falling. Measuring the balance of his love and fear. “Do you want me to tell Cordelia?”

I think I like this boy. I can see the wheel clicking in his head, working it out. He may be the side-kick, but he’s far from stupid and he has all the instincts of an animal in the presence of a predator. He sees the danger and checks his exits. Now all he has to do is walk away.

“Willow, please don’t do this. I know you’re hurt, but don’t make it worse than it is. Please? I’m going home now, and you should go in. We’ll talk tomorrow. Work out the best thing to do.”

He turns to go, shoulders hunched and defensive. Then he stalls. Gathering his courage. Trying to form an answer. An adult solution to her childish question. He turns to look at her. Seeing her for the first time in years. Just as I see him.

“I understand, Will. I really do. The need for reassurance. The need to belong, to fit in. But this is just wrong. I can’t be your insurance against being alone. You should know I’ll always be here .Why don’t you trust me?”

He turns again and pauses briefly, struggling for control. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Cordelia myself.”

The boy’s got balls. For now. He walks away, misery and guilt in every step and I follow at a distance. Lad’s got promise. Perhaps it’s time to grab me a little insurance of my own.


	3. Perceptions 2: Aspects of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander is alone at the Bronze and Spike is bored – again!

_**Perceptions 2:Aspects of Love**_  
Beta extraordinaire:[](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[ **thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

Boy’s sitting on his own at the Bronze. Moping. Know the reason as well. He’s never one to let a masochistic moment pass by. Went straight to see the cheerleader last night, after leaving the pity party with the Red head. Saw him go in and saw him come out again – part kicked puppy, part righteous indignation. I’d say the puppy won by a good two lengths. It’s not fair; I never get invited to the good parties any more. I’d have paid actual money for a ring side seat for that one. Mind you, you know what they say about pictures and words? When he left, the door slammed almost off its hinges and then a whole pile of photos landed on the grass, fluttering like confetti from her bedroom window. I guess it didn’t go well, then.

So here he is. No friends about. Just him and something with an umbrella in it. I mean, really, I can smell it from here. All fruit and stuff, not even any bloody alcohol. Almost makes me feel sorry for him. It’s not proper. Can’t drown your sorrows in something Pink! It’s just not right.

I must be more bored than I realised, now that the entertainment’s over, that is. Let’s see if we can get a second show? I whistle up a second glass of Jack, this time with Coke, and move towards him, bait in hand.

I check the club. Assessing the action, watching my perimeters. Never know when the Slayer might realise one of her chickies is missing. Not sure if she’s bothered with this one, though?

I’m almost there, and he’s still staring at his drink, oblivious. Searching for some answers, some direction. Time for a bit of fun.

“Forty Two.”

“What?” He looks up started and confused and just a little bit terrified when he realises the company he’s got. Oh this will be fun.

“Forty Two, mate. Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.” I point to the pink thing with distaste. “You’re not going to find it at the bottom of that.” He’s still gaping at me as I put the Jack in front of him. “Figured you could use something a bit stronger. Give you a bit of focus, like?”

“Spike? Oh god no. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse. Please, someone, just shoot me now! I think this is my cue to leave. So not spending the evening with the psychotic, evil, undead. And did you actually just make a pop culture reference? I thought your knowledge pretty much stopped with the Sex Pistols and ‘Johnny, I’m-not-a-very-nice-boy’?” He stands up, groping for his jacket when my hand comes down hard on the back of his neck, holding him in place.

“I’m not finished, yet. You’re not going anywhere ‘til we’ve had a little chat, all civilized like. I’m a little bit bored and you’re tonight’s cabaret.” Poor bugger, he’s going to faint any minute now. God I love being evil. I let go of his neck and he collapses back onto the chair, glaring. Points for effort. He’s scared shitless, but still got balls. I like that in a meal. I grin, and that really seems to scare him. “So, no need to be rude then, and no need to mock the Pistols either. Proper band they were. Drugs, birds, shagging, puking. Really knew how to get a crowd going, they did. These days what’ve you got? Bleeding Backstreet Boys, or whatever they’re called. I mean, what’s that all about? Poncing about, might as well be doing the soddin’ quickstep. Not that I’d know anything about that. Anyway, I’ve read every Douglas Adams going. Man’s a friggin’ genius. Right up there with that Pratchett bloke.”

“That’s it. I’ve officially gone to another dimension. I know Willow’s been dabbling in magic. She’s obviously decided this is the easiest way to not have me around.” The boy’s got his eyes closed, like he can pretend I’m not here if he can’t see me. God, he’s young. He’s got a mouth on him too. I let the babble wash over and look at the whole package. Very nice, too. If I was in the market for something? Which I’m not, because me and Dru…. She’s my black rose, all velvet and thorns. But this one does have a certain appeal.

He’s still babbling, about dimensional rifts and wormholes and some other shite. It’s starting to get on my nerves. “So, she dumped you, then?”

“What?” He’s staring at me, bristling like an angry little pup. It’s kind of cute.

“The cheerleader, she gave you an earful after you anted up about the Red head?”

“What?” God, and I thought this was going to be fun. Bought the little bugger a drink and everything. He’s just not holding up his end of the deal at all. He’s staring at me like I’m talking another language. Maybe I was wrong about him not being slow?

“Okay, let’s try this again. Words of one syllable this time. You, moron. Playing away with the Red head. Couldn’t take the heat when the wolf got a sniff of the two of you. Decided to come clean with the prom queen. Got dumped? Did I miss anything? Is any of this ringing any bells, or did I just become the good fairy and buy you a drink for nothing? Come on. I want dirt. I want details.”

He’s staring at the Jack like he wants to drown in it and then looks up, confused. He does have pretty eyes. Reminds me of my Dru, all a bit vacant and off somewhere else. He shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “So, let me get this straight. You know about Will and me. You know about Oz breaking up with her. You know about my conversation with Will and you know about me going to see Cordy last night. Spike, I’m just hazarding a guess here, but have you by any chance been following me?”

“Well, yeah. What kind of a question is that? I’m not bloody psychic you know. Not like my Dru. Mind you, don’t understand what the hell she’s on about, half the time.”

He’s got that look again. Trapped between anger and hurt and just a little bit of wonder that someone’s paying attention to him. Fertile soil here. If I had time, I’d do a little cultivating. See what pretty black flowers I could grow. “Well, got stuck in Sunnyhell for a week with nothing to do. Waiting to see a man about a dog. Know how these things are? Was bored out of my bloody skull. You two walked past, all blushing and guilty looking. Never see such grabby hands in my life, and that includes seeing a Gytrash demon mate. Creepy buggers. Six arms and three dicks. What do the hell do they need three for, anyhow? Anyway, you and Red, better than going to the pictures that was.”

Again with the confused look. “Pictures, flicks, cinema? Oh Jesus Christ, movies. You really do speak a foreign language don’t you?”

He’s hanging on to the glass like it’s going to jump out of his hand. “Spike? Man about a dog? Are you getting a pet or something?”

“No you pillock. It’s an expression.” Kids these days, got no education. “I’m just doing a bit of business.” Mind you, Dru did call him her kitten. Got the makings of a nice little pet. Bet he’d look pretty in a collar and lead. Right then, back to business. “So, tell me. What’d the cheerleader say then? She obviously dumped you.” Now comes the misery. I might even get him another drink if it’ll get me some tears.

“Yes, I told her. I tried to explain, but she just stood there looking at me like something she’d stepped in. Not far from the truth to be honest. I don’t understand how it all got so out of hand. God, Cordy is so beautiful. I couldn’t believe she would want to be seen with me. And Will’s my best friend. I’ve know her since kindergarten and she’s always just been kind of there. You know?”

I nod. Encouraging. Waiting for the crack.

“Then I’m helping her with her dress and she’s sorting out my tux. You know, like friends do. Got to look good for the dance. For Cordy and Oz. So we did a little bit of a side-kick support group thing. But then, there she was in that dress, looking so beautiful and I can’t believe I’d never noticed. That she’d grown up. Oz noticed. Then it just happened. The kissing and the groping, which was followed by the freaking and the spazzing. We knew it was wrong, both of us. But it’s like we couldn’t stop. Like tasting forbidden fruit. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. And now I don’t know what to do. Buffy’ll know by now, and if Cordelia tells Harmony, it’ll be all over the school. And Giles will just sigh and look disappointed.”

He looks up, eyes brimming. I shove my glass towards him and he tips it blindly into his own. Almost there.

“I didn’t go into school today. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face them. I don’t know what to do tomorrow.”

Suddenly this isn’t so much fun anymore. I’m starting to feel sorry for the little ponce. “You know, there were two of you. Looked to me like Red did her fair share of the sneaking and the groping, maybe more. Couldn’t have done it on your own. That’s just masturbation.”

He looks a bit shocked. Not supposed to talk about bodily functions in public, I suppose. Then he’s back in hero mode. “I know there were two of us. But I knew it was wrong. I know how insecure Willow can be and I should have seen it coming. Should have worked it out. Now it’s just a mess and I don’t know what to do.” He stops for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “I just wonder if this gets any easier? The emotion thing, I mean. Is there really such a thing as love, or is it just all lust and hurting?” He’s looking at me like he really wants an answer.

“’Course love exists. We wouldn’t all be doing all this stupid shite if it didn’t. Sure, there’s lust and groping and sex and sneaking about, and that’s fun too. But real love, that’s different.” He’s staring at me like I’ve got directions to the Holy Grail and I wonder what the hell I’m doing?

“Me and Dru, now that’s love. It’s like when you’re not quite happy when you’re apart. When things feel unbalanced and won’t be fixed ‘til you’re back together. When you don’t feel complete and don’t really trust yourself, until you’re back with them. That’s how it is with us.”

He’s looking at me, all wide eyed and longing. “I don’t think I’m ever going to find that,” he said sadly.

“’Course you will. It’s just a matter of time.” And when did I start to sound like Oprah bleeding Winfrey. “You’re just a kid. Playing with the toys at the moment, testing them out. Wish I’d had a chance to do that at your age. Stop hiding, take the time to explore. Be a real boy.” He’s drinking it all in. Sitting taller and straighter and looking me right in the eye. I really should start charging by the hour.

“Right then, got to go. Things to do, people to eat.” Oh, that got him, I think he’s just remembered exactly who he’s talking to. “Just need to collect my dosh, pay off the little weasel and get the hell out of Dodge. My Dru’s calling me.” I pick up my fags and turn to leave.

“Wait a minute?” He’s looking at me questioningly. “Sorry, it’s just that, I’m curious. Where you’re off to, I mean?” He’s stalled, groping for the words, nerves and nosiness warring in his head. “Sorry. Curiosity, gets me into all sorts of trouble.”

I knew there was something about this boy that spoke to me. “South America. Left Dru down there while I came up to close some business. Hellmouth doesn’t agree with her. She’s talking about going to Peru. The stars told her about some tribe of head-hunters. She wants to see what they taste like.”

“Head-hunters?” The boy looks sick.

“Yeah, pygmies. Can’t see the point myself. Not much more than a bite in them. Need four or five to make a decent meal, otherwise it’ll be like eating Chinese. Two hours later and you’re hungry again. Probably just get stuck in my teeth anyhow.” I grin at him, flashing a little fang, but he holds his ground, watching. “But, if that’s where my Princess wants to go, then that’s where we’ll head. See, told you it was love.”

I grin again and this time he does look nervous. “Right, that’s me. Next time, you can buy me a drink.”

He coughs, choking on the last mouthful of Jack. I knew Coke was bad for you. “You mean, you actually bought these? Paid in actual cash?”

I think I’m a bit hurt by his tone. “Well, yeah. How’d you think I got them? Mugged a passing waiter who just happened to be carrying my favourite drink?” He’s nodding, cheeky little git. “’Course I bought them. Wanker.” I light another cigarette and take a long drag while he makes a face. “Didn’t say it was my money, though. I am evil.”

I start to walk away; time to make my big exit. I’m almost at the door when I hear the question.

“What do you mean, next time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's definition of love was respectfully adapted from a few lines in Georgette Heyer's Frederica, because Spike is a big Georgette Heyer fan! *g*


	4. Perceptions 3: Postcards from the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a month since Spike saw things blow up between Xander and Willow and then encountered Xander at the Bronze. The boys contemplate their lives and definitely don’t think about each other.

_**Perceptions 3:Postcards from the Edge**_  
Beta extraordinaire: [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

God, it’s hot. 85 degrees in old money, in the sodding shade. I know Brazil is a hot country, but even the locals say this is ridiculous for the time of year. And I thought Sunnyhell was hot. Mind you, some of that was the infernal variety, but even so. Must be the English blood - not designed for this kind of heat. Now steamy I don’t mind, but that’s a different thing altogether.

Time for another beer, not that I need an excuse, but still. Helps wash the taste of that bloody German tourist out my mouth. Who in their right mind eats Sauerkraut anyhow? Makes the blood taste – smelly. Nice room, though. Must be costing Attila the Hun there a pretty penny. All mod cons. Fully stocked mini bar, but not for long. Trouser press, hair dryer, even got a sea view. Wonder if they do room service? Need to call house-keeping; damn Kraut’s just cluttering the place up. Makes the room look untidy. Got a decent haul from him, though. Nice fat wallet loaded with cash. Decent watch, probably worth a bob or two. And a bunch of crappy souvenirs. I swear, if I see one more plastic statue of Christ I’m going to do some serious damage. Talk about tacky.

Found a bunch of postcards, complete with handy stamps. Pity about the bloodstains, but I’m sure it’ll be fine when they dry. Not sure who I’d send one to, though? Dru wouldn’t read one and anyway I’ll see her tomorrow. Got here a week early, all ready to surprise her and a flunky informs me she’s gone to Sao Paulo. Didn’t like his manner, just a bit cocky. I got dust all over my coat. So, bloody stars, at it again. Told her she had to go and talk to St Paul or some such shite. Don’t see what’s wrong with Rio myself, but there’s no telling her when she gets an idea in her head. So, Sao Paulo it is then. Wonder if she’s still hot for the head-hunters? Wouldn’t mind just staying put for a while, but whatever my girl wants is what we’ll do. Anyway, need to get her a nice present. Something exotic. Maybe one of those girls from the Andes with the big hats. They were all over the square yesterday. Be doing the world a favour getting rid of another set of bloody Pan Pipes.

Could send one to the great poof? That would worry him. Tease him about being all soul having again. He’s that far removed from being a real vamp these days he’d probably even like the picture of the statue. Why couldn’t Adolf buy some beach scenes? Bit of tanned tit might cheer the old ponce up. Don’t suppose he’d read anything I sent him anyway. Not exactly happy families these days.

I grab my smokes and light up. God that’s good. At least one advantage of being on your own is no one moans about passive smoking and all that other shite. Political bloody correctness bollocks. Actually had a minion once who had the nerve to comment on my habits. Said it was bad for his health. Bloody right. So was the 2x4 I hammered through his chest. Those were the days.

Christ, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Half decent meal, plenty of booze, couple of cartons of fags. And my Dru, tomorrow. All the sex I could want and then the rest. Trouble is, I want a shag now, but some things are worth wating for. God, I’m nearly as broody as the bloody poof.

That body really is beginning to get on my nerves. Fat git, thin blood. And look at the state of that shirt. I mean, really. Might as well be wearing a pair of curtains. Haven’t seen a shirt that bad since..? Well, since the last time I saw the boy.

God, that was fun. All that guilt and lust and confusion wrapped in one pretty package. Smelt delicious. Bet he’d taste even better. Wonder if he’s lost his cherry yet? Probably not. Too much fumbling in corners with the cheerleader and the red head to get much experience. Probably hasn’t even worked out how to unhook a bra while he’s kissing. It’s a definite art. Wouldn’t mind giving a few general pointers, not about bras, obviously. Though a threesome could be fun. I wonder what Dru would say? Might be fun to take him in hand. Give him a few lessons. But he’d probably run a mile, shrieking about not being gay. Neither am I - just open to opportunities. Would lay him out and teach him all sorts of tricks. Ruin him for life. Bet he’d beg all pretty, like. I still think he’d look good in a collar.

Could tell he wants out of Sunnydale, asking about where I was going. But he doesn’t have the nerve to leave and take the fall out. Bet he’s been looking up books on South America ever since I left. Wondering about the big bad world.

I open another beer and toss the cap over my shoulder. Lands right in the fat guy’s mouth. Bullseye. Now there’s a thought. Can’t have a shag, but maybe a little mind fucking would be fun. Think I’ll send a postcard after all.

  
**********

It’s been sort of quiet lately. The whole, quiet, it’s too damn quiet kind of deal. I nearly came out with that at the Scooby meeting last night, but Giles just gave me one of his looks when I started. So I stopped. So much for humour in the face of adversity. Though our ‘adverse’ has been a bit lacking recently. At least on the demon killing, world ending kind of front, although we know the Mayor is up to something. Maybe he’s just plotting really, really quietly.

It’s funny. Even with everything that’s happened over the last few years, everything I know about the night-life, I still like to sit outside when I think. I think the fresh air gives me some focus. Maybe I should take classes outside. Might help my grades. No one ever understood the whole Christmas Eve, sleeping bag, backyard deal. It was my time just to look at the stars and have some time to myself, just to take stock. And the whole getting away from the family deal, well maybe there is a Santa Claus.

Things are better than they were. Well, they couldn’t exactly get any worse. This last month was so hard. I didn’t know what to say to Willow and she could hardly bring herself to talk to me. It’s like she thought if she stayed away, somehow Oz would take her back. Cordy just makes cutting remarks whenever she sees me and turns her back. The Cordettes love it.

Buffy’s been great. She didn’t take sides, which sort of surprised me. Just treated us both like we were equally stupid. But then, she doesn’t know about my bizarre encounter with the evil undead and his oh so disturbing view of the world. And that’s just the way it’s going to stay. She got me and Wills in a room together and gave us both a bollocking. And did I just think the word bollocking? Oh god, I think Spike’s rubbing off on me. Whoa, did my mind just go to a scary place. Definitely time to rewind. We got the patented Buffy pep talk. Told us we were both morons and to fix it. Short and to the point, a bit like her, really. Funnily enough, things have been sort of better since then. Will and I still aren’t actually talking in the actual having a conversation sense, but at least we can be in the same room without completely spazzing. So that has to be progress? Giles is definitely relieved. There’s only so much hormone driven angst a man can take before he goes for the hard stuff in the bottom drawer. At least we’ve given him a reason not to feel guilty about it! He did say he was relieved Will and I were sorting out our “difficulties”. Poor Giles, he looked so embarrassed doing the father figure thing. Looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. Mind you, shouldn’t even think about that because hello, Hellmouth!

How come the most sensible conversation I’ve had in the last month was with Spike? He actually talked to me like a person. Okay, a person-shaped snack food with potential entertainment value, but I actually felt worth something. Like he actually listened to me. I kept thinking about what he said about him and Dru. Giles keeps telling us demons don’t feel love, but the way he looked – I hope someone will look at me like that, one day. Not Spike, obviously, because vampire, evil, male, undead fiend. Not exactly pushing any of my buttons. But that kind of devotion. What would that be like?

I wonder if he and Dru found their head-hunters? After he left I had this bizarre dream about rows of pygmies all served up on little cocktail sticks like little snacks set on the bar along side the pretzels and the nuts. Glad I woke up just as Spike started biting the heads off like they were jelly babies, because ewww. Anyway, munching lost tribes in darkest Peru, not my idea of a good time. But just the idea of going somewhere where no one might have been before…… I guess that’s why I’m a Star Trek junkie. Despite what Willow and Buffy say, I do know that it’s not real and the planets are just lumps of painted polystyrene. I’m not that stupid. I bet I’d finish up being a Red Shirt. But just the idea of seeing stuff, doing something, being somewhere else. Man, that would be so cool. I bet Spike’s been places I can’t even spell, not that, that’s very hard. I know he’s got the whole big bad, evil demon thing going on, with the murder and the mayhem and the extraction of bodily fluids and that so isn’t an attractive feature. But he’s seen things, been places I can’t even imagine. I envy him that.

God, can I get any more pathetic, envying the evil undead.

I still don’t understand why he sent me a postcard. I’m just glad I caught the mailman. So, not wanting to explain cards from mysterious men from Brazil to the parents. I haven’t told the others either. Things are beginning to calm down and I really don’t want to start another storm in Giles’ teacup.

It’s stupid, but the last few days I’ve been carrying it around with me. Hidden in the back of the latest copy of Spiderman. Not that anyone is going to go through my bag, but it pays to be sure. Wills wouldn’t look there. She’s grown out of comic books. Now it’s all Cosmo quizzes and giggling. There was a time when she’d steal my Wonder Woman before I’d even read it, but that was before she got a real one of her own.

I don’t know, it’s like it’s some kind of talisman. Proof that if I can get through the rest of the year and graduate that there’s somewhere else out there. Somewhere real. Not Brazil obviously, because definitely not going somewhere with vamps on the sightseeing list. And Peru’s out, because head-hunters… There has to be somewhere normal, surely? Not boring, just where you can go out for something to eat and not be the one on the menu.

It’s getting cold out, but I just can’t resist a final look. Getting a bit dog-eared now. I’m going to have to stop worrying it. “Rio at Dawn” Wonder if Spike saw the same view. Maybe with Dru, watching the sun rise from some dark window.

I’m still confused by the message, but can’t help tracing the writing with my finger. Who’d have thought William the Bloody used a fountain pen?

 _Hello pet. Bet you wish you were here? Remember you owe me a drink. Maybe we’ll even catch a bite next time…._

Okay, I’m freaked. I get freaked every time I read it and I still don’t tell the gang. I’ve got an undead homicidal potential stalker and I’m not saying anything. I’ve asked myself why every night for the last 3 weeks and am still no further forward. Shivering, I put the card away, deliberately not looking at the brownish stain across the top. It’s just dirt. Oh yeah, sure.

Oh my god. That can’t be the time. Need to get home and avoid the parents. Might get more peace and quiet if I just find a nice empty crypt to sleep in. Probably be cleaner too. It’s weird, though. I didn’t realise how quiet it was. No traffic noise, no Scooby babble. Peaceful, but definitely not safe.

I stretch cautiously, wincing as bones crack. Park benches are not designed for long term teenage introspection, especially at this time of year and especially not in the dark. I must have been miles away. Didn’t even notice the daylight fade. If I get killed now, Buffy’ll never let me hear the end of it. As I gather up my stuff, there’s a snap of a branch breaking across the park and I grasp my stake harder and mutter about stupid suicidal Scoobies who should know better than daydreaming in the park after class.

Another branch breaks and a fox slinks out of the undergrowth, intent on the evening’s hunt. He reminds me of Spike. Nothing to worry about, just a natural predator doing its thing. I walk backwards for a few steps, watching, ‘til the tail disappears into another clump of trees. All of a sudden I shiver, and wonder why I’m the one who feels like they’re being watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any German readers, but this is Spike talking. I've tried talking to him about political correctness, but he just keeps blowing smoke in my face...


	5. Perceptions 4: Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike is back in Sunnyhell and he’s not a little ray of sunshine..

_**Perceptions 4: Rewind**_  
Beta Extraordinaire: [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

“Oh, my, God. I had sex! With Faith! Shit. Okay, calm down, deep breaths. Right, okay, that’s better. Not exactly how I pictured the first time, sleazy motel, bad neighbourhood, not exactly hearts and flowers, but still – Faith! Oh wow, I can’t believe I finally had sex!”

“That you did, pet. Finally got rid of that damn cherry, and to a Slayer too. Night to remember, I’ll wager.” I settle back on the hood of the car, balancing the bottle of Jack on a headlight and take a long drag of my fag. God, that’s good, post coital pleasure by proxy.

“Spike?” Bloody hell, didn’t know anyone could squeak that high. Sounds like she took his balls, as well as the rest. Poor sod, jumped about 6 feet, clothes and shoes flying all over the place. Can’t beat a bit of slapstick. “Spike?” That’s it, bit more manly this time. “What’re you doing here? Where did you come from? When did you get back? More importantly, why are you lurking in the dark outside this motel? Are you stalking me again?” I think he’s going to pass out any moment. Boy need to learn to breath. While he still can. He starts to back towards the motel door and trips over the pile of crumpled clothes scattered at his feet. I can’t help sniggering and he’s glaring at me, groping for the sharp one-liner. “And get the hell off my car!”

“You know, the belligerent act would work a mite better if you weren’t half naked, pet. Not that I’m complaining or nothing. Always suspected you might have a surprise or three hidden under all that crap you wear.” He’s blushing, crimson. Trying to haul his trousers up and keep me in his sights. Silly boy, if I’d wanted to make a move I’d have done it by now and he wouldn’t have seen me coming. “I’m just enjoying the show.” Wouldn’t mind seeing what’s under the final wrapper. If he’s been with a Slayer, he’s probably got the stamina for the matinee and an evening performance.

  
He’s trying to catch his breath. Eyes darting from the peeling paint on the door to his trousers, still pooled around his knees. He grasps at the crumpled fabric and pulls self consciously. “Okay. That’s better. Pants on, check. Shirt fastened, check. Right, Spike. Good to talk to you. We must do this again sometime, only not. Must be going, people to see, demons to kill. Only not you, obviously, because you, big bad, vampire slayer killer, me puny human and of course I don’t really do the actual demon killing, that’s more Buffy’s job, I just bring the snacks and the witty commentary and oh god, at least I got to have sex at least once before I died.”

He’s so damn cute when he’s all flustered. Words just tumbling out of his mouth, jumbled and tossing like rapids and I clamp my hand over his mouth to dam the flow. “Are you finished?” He nods tentatively, breath hitching. “Are you going to keep quiet?” Another nod, this time a bit firmer. He’s not stupid, just a bit annoying. “Are you going to listen to me?” That’s the hard one. I can feel his mouth open under my hand. He can’t help himself. “I wouldn’t, pet. I really wouldn’t.” I can see the rebellion in his eyes. Frustration fighting his common sense. He’s just lost his cherry and he thinks he’s a man now. He’ll learn. “Now, I’m going to take my hand away and you’re going to keep schtum and we’re going to get out of here. Bit too close to that Slayer, standing here. Surprised her radar hasn’t gone off already. You must have given some performance if she’s still in recovery time.” I really didn’t know anyone could go that colour of red. Now if I could just direct all that lovely blood a bit further south, this one might just be trainable. “Right then, let’s go.” I put my hand on his arm and push him along.

“Umm, Spike, where exactly are we going?” He’s looking back at the motel desperately, like the Slayer might appear any moment now. Looks like he’s out of luck.

“Just thought we’d get together, catch up on old times, maybe shoot some pool, have a couple of drinks. Which reminds me, it’s your round. Owe me from last time we had a nice little chat.” I count the beats and give him credit for a full 10 seconds before he explodes.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough. I thought things were insane last time we met. What with the interrogation about my love life and your fondness for cult fiction and your pep talks on relationships and the meaning of true love. I really thought my life couldn’t get any weirder and then I get postcards. Getting postcards from the evil undead really is up there on the weirdo-meter even by Hellmouth standards. And all that flowery writing. Took me three attempts to work out what you’d written on every one. And how did you even know where to send them, anyway? Oh yeah, that’s right, because you’d been stalking me, you knew where I lived. And every time I look at them, I think my life can’t get any stranger, but no, stupid me. And now, on an already bizarre night, what with the bomb making zombies and the monsters of the week and the gang being all avoidy and me having sex with Faith of all people, you turn up with your swishy coat and your threats and your stupid English accent. Why the hell are you here? You’re supposed to be in Peru with the love of your life, remember. Persecuting short people and finding new and exciting ways to terrorise the local populace. So, blondie. Why are you back in Sunnydale?”

He’s right in my face. I can almost taste his fury; feel his breath on my cheek. His eyes are blazing, teeth bared like a hungry fledge. He’d make a lovely pet, all need and anger wrapped up in one intoxicating package. But he needs to learn his place. I start to push him back. Not going to let the brat bully me. Who the hell does he think he’s talking to? The bloody poof? I’m William the fucking Bloody and I don’t take that kind of shite from anyone. Not from the poof, not from minions, not from Slayers. And definitely not from some big, dark haired, brown eyed git like him. Smelling all tough and pushy and confused and still innocent despite the night’s activities. He steps back warily, watching as I move towards him. Big, dark eyes, following every step. He knows he’s gone too far. Couldn’t help himself, all that stress and emotion seething away after the night he’s had. But now he’s breathing hard, remembering just who he’s dealing with.

“Temper, temper. You knew I was coming back. Don’t know why you’re so surprised. Did you get the rest of my postcards?”

“What, the ones from Caracas and Acapulco and Monterrey, and what the hell would you do in Acapulco anyway? Oh yeah, I got them. They’re sitting right there with the one from sunny Rio. Get my travel fix every morning without even leaving good old Sunnyhell. How will I ever thank you!”

I go to slap him down again, when I realise what he said. He looks at the postcards. Not sitting in a drawer somewhere. He actually looks at them. Somehow the thought stops me cold. Still don’t understand why I sent them, but it matters that they arrived. Saw him sitting on the bench, muttering and staring at something. Wasn’t sure it was one of my cards, I suppose I sort of hoped. Who am I trying to kid? Been watching him this last week. Saw the Scooby meetings cut short, then start up again when he’d gone. Knew the dark haired Slayer was trouble but I remember the last time we met, he said he had a problem with curiosity. Think we’ve got that in common. That’s why I followed him tonight. Zombies were great fun, though I didn’t think much of that O’Toole, bloke – no style. Might even have intervened if that copper hadn’t got there first. Quite fancied that knife. Didn’t expect the night to end like this and now he’s standing there, looking at me like he wants answers. Like he has the right. I’m thinking about our last encounter at the Bronze, and maybe he does at that. For over a century humans have been toys or food and I have no idea where this one fits. Oh Christ, poofdom here I come.

“Spike? What do you want?”

“She left me” There, it’s out. No turning back now. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but I’m damned if I’m going to crack in front of the little shit. Still got some pride.

“What?”

“Drusilla. She left me. Found someone else.” He’s just staring at me. Anger draining from his body, emotion’s flashing across his face – disbelief, confusion, pity. Don’t want his bloody pity. All of a sudden I just feel old and tired. “Look, I really don’t want to discuss my love life outside the set of Motel Hell. Let’s go and get a drink” He’s looking pointedly at the empty bottle in my hand, and I’m kind of glad he didn’t see the last three. “Anyway, I know I need one and you could probably do with a top up after letting off all that steam. So, car keys?”

“What? Oh, no way. You’re drunk and you’re not driving my car. Well, actually Uncle Rory’s car, but you are not driving it.”

“Car keys.” I start towards him and he backs up just a step. “I won’t ask again.” It’s make or break time. Either going to mutiny or cave in. Depends on how scared he is and how much he wants the dirt. “Could always pay a visit to the little red head. Sure she’d just love to hear what you’ve been up to. What do you reckon?” He looks like he’s going to hit me then just deflates and digs in his pocket for the keys. “Alright then, let’s get to it.”

“Umm, Spike. Where’s your car? I mean, how the hell did you get back here, anyway?”

Smart boy. “Drove, you moron, but that kind of distance takes a toll on the old thing. It’s in the shop just now. Know a Crombec demon who’s a genius with classic cars. He’s taking care of her for me. Bit of a pain being without wheels, though. You got this all the time?”

“Oh, no way. I am not playing chauffeur to the evil undead and no way are you getting a loan of this car. I may be stupid, but there are limits.” He makes a grab for the keys, but not a chance.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, pet. Now get in, or you’re walking” He sighs and moves towards the passenger side. “Good boy.”

“Good boy? I’m not your dog, Spike.” He’s getting huffy again, but it’s all show.

“’Course not, pet. Wouldn’t suggest such a thing.”

  
Never thought I’d say we reached a bar too quickly, but all of a sudden we’re in there, sitting at a table and he’s looking at me. Expectant. At least he’s still just scared enough not to try to buy me the kind of shite he’d get served. One finger raised to a passing waiter and I show him how it’s done. He could at least look impressed, but he’s still going to pay for the round. Didn’t order him anything and I can see it rankles and makes the resentment curdle just that little bit more. He grabs the waiter as he turns away and puts in his order. Fizzy teenage rotgut.

“So, you and Drusilla? I mean, I’m sorry. You said it was true love. Seemed quite an authority of the subject, but obviously not. Kind of figured you’d written essays on the theme. Published poems – Ode to a Mass Murdering Serial Killer. Definitely award winning stuff.”

He’s waving his hand in the air, punctuating his words, conducting his own private symphony of spite. I grab at his wrist, squeezing slowly, ‘til he gasps and stops speaking. Those damn eyes again, checking me out, assessing how far he can push it. Can’t look that threatening ‘cause there he goes again. Little bastard, I swear he’s been practising. He’s just as much a predator as me. Senses the weakness and goes for the kill. How they ever thought this one needed protecting I’ll never know. Pretty black flowers for sure. My Dru would have loved them.

  
There’s something whispering in the back of my brain and all of a sudden I can’t hear the boy talking. Can see his mouth moving, words spilling out of that creative little brain of his. But there’s just buzzing and a poisonous little whisper that this is what I deserve. Right back to the scene of the crime. Sitting, mocking him. Ridiculing his first big romantic fuck up. Did I really think he’d sympathise? In his shoes I’d laugh like hell and leave the place burning.

He’s got his hand on my arm and I jerk away, smoothing down the leather. He’s got this strange look on his face, like he’s almost concerned. “Spike? Are you okay? God, you kind of went off somewhere there. Can’t exactly call the paramedics for the non-breathing population. Look, I really am sorry about Dru, god knows I can’t talk about fidelity. But you turn up here, out of the blue, practically kidnap me and then expect me to do my Dr Ruth impression. You got to admit, it’s all a bit surreal. And I’ve no idea why I’m sitting here listening to you, apart from the whole, holding my car to ransom deal. Not that you’re not a great conversationalist, because under the right circumstances I’m sure we’d talk up a storm and find lots in common. And I know getting snarky with a drunk, bi-polar killer isn’t exactly a life plan, but you’ve just got me a bit off balance here. Spike, are you in there?”

I’m just staring at him, watching his mouth move. Don’t even know what I’m doing here anyhow? “Bar snacks”

“What?”

“Pygmies on sticks. Pretzels and nuts. You’ve got a creative mind. I like that, it’s entertaining.” He’s looking at me funny. Scared and just a little bit interested. “You didn’t know you talked out loud when you sit and think, did you? Must be the darkness. It’s nice, doesn’t make you feel alone, just anonymous. Working out your thoughts, letting the juices flow, know what I mean?

“So you have been stalking me again.” He looks kind of hopeful, like the answer will prove he’s not mad. Hellmouth logic. He tries to claw back some sense of control and does the unexpected. Grabs my Jack and swallows half of it in one long move. I watch his throat as the drink goes down, staring at his pulse point. Now he’s got some balls back and moves in for the next round.

“Okay, so back to you and Dru? Really, I’m fascinated. Who’d she find? Must be quite something to throw over a catch like you.”

Mouthy little shit. Has no idea what we had, what we meant for over a century. He thinks a quick grope in a closet and some after school fumbling makes him an adequate judge. He’s not even adequate. Mucking around with the little witch and he couldn’t even get that right. Now he’s been had by a Slayer he thinks he’s a big noise. Thinks he knows all about me. Even got the nerve to nick my drink.

“What the hell would you know? What are you, eighteen, going on seven? What could you possibly know about love? Groping and rubbing and snogging and running into opposite corners pretending it didn’t happen because it’ll get you the wrong label. That’s not love, that’s just crap and bogus and childish pretend. Try being with someone for a hundred years. Squandering your love and affection on someone who just wants you to be someone else. Loving, caring, worshiping the ground they walked on. Protecting them when they couldn’t take care of themselves. Protecting them from daddy. Trying to understand them, to be understood. Try that for a hundred years. Then you’ve got the right to judge.

“I just wanted to surprise her. Turn up, be spontaneous. Like with the postcards. Understand? When you’ve got eternity, spontaneous doesn’t happen very often. But I got there and there she was, making time with the Chaos Demon. Have you ever seen a Chaos Demon? All slime and antlers, not exactly god's gift.” I’m in his face, growling, hands fisted in his shirt. At least I’m still up to scaring the shit out of someone. He’s biting his lip, hard and a trickle of blood oozes from the mark. I let go of his shirt and wipe the cut with my thumb, smearing it, red, across his mouth. It’s a good look on him. He runs his tongue reflexively along the cut. Shit, he’s so damn innocent, it just makes me want to hurt him all the more. “I just don’t understand. Tried to give her the world and she throws it in my face for something like that. Wouldn’t mind so much, but I know she’ll be back and wonder why the hell I’m upset.” He’s looking at me now, eyes wide. Determined to say something, just not sure what. If he says he knows how I feel, I’m going to kill him, slowly. “You have no idea how I feel. How I felt. Saw her with that thing and she didn’t even look my way. Like I didn’t even exist, after all this time. Still love her, but right now I think I hate her even more.”

He’s going to start again, and I’ve just had enough. Enough of being pissed on, enough of being second best, enough of feeling like I’ve something to prove. He’s staring at me and I just want someone to hurt. “So, got a Slayer under your belt. Got that much in common, just a different perspective. You going for number two now? Same moves, different hair dye. What about the prom queen and the red head? Sometimes it’s good to scratch old itches, don’t you think? Must have a plan, now you’re a big, manly, man. Or will it just be one meaningless shag after another? Bet I could get you cut price on a Vengeance Demon I used to know. Not cheap, but Christ she could go. Teach you a thing or two. Tarnish the rest of that shiny armour you’ve got. Don’t think it’d take much.”

Light touch paper, fireworks away, but there he is, surprising me again. He’s just looking – pissed and a little lost. “Go away Spike. I don’t understand why you came back? I don’t understand what you want with me? Dru will get bored and you’ll be there. Why would you stay here right under the nose of the Slayer?” He’s groping for his coat, shrugging it on like a little layer of protection. “Tell you what. I’m not going to tell Buffy you’re here, and I know that’s going to get my ass kicked, but I reckon you’ll be gone soon enough. Just one thing, though. While you’re here, Willow’s off limits or I will tell Buffy and all bets are off. We got enough on our hands without you playing head games. I know it’s crazy, but I’d even ask you to help, but I don’t suppose you have any reason to this time. So please, just go while you can.”

Boy’s grown up since I’ve been away. Taken some advice to heart. Didn’t realise it would be mine though.

He turns to go and I clear my throat and hold up the car keys. At least he has the grace to blush as he takes them. Think I spoiled his big exit. He’s at the door when the question drifts back. “I just wondered, why Sunnydale, Spike? Why the hell did you come back here?”

I drink the last of my Jack and whistle up a bottle. “Just wanted to know if you got the cards?” I look up, but he’s already gone. “Silly really, was just curious.”


	6. Perceptions 5: Leaving Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike hears some unpleasant news and Xander ends up somewhere unexpected.

_**Perceptions 5: Leaving Normal**_  
Beta extraordinaire: [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

Don’t know why I’m so itchy. Just got the feeling something’s not right, but I can’t put my finger on it. Been keeping a low profile with the white hat brigade the last couple of days. Boy said he wouldn’t tell them I was back and I believe him, unless I give him reason of course. I’ve left him alone. After our little tête-à-tête I thought I should give him some breathing space. And when did I get all considerate? Anyway, did a couple of long distance hunts – well I call them hunts ‘cause that’s what Master Vampires do, but to be honest I was almost patrolling, but that’s a white hat thing and definitely not my style. Wouldn’t catch me patrolling. What am I, Dixon of bloody Dock Green? Anyway, hunt, patrol, still not getting anything up close and I’m starting to feel out of the loop. And in Sunnyhell, there’s only one place to go for the Hellmouth gossip and intel, and a bloody good bar fight if you’re in the mood. Right then, time to go and see a man about a drink.

***********

“Spike. I heard you were back in town. Wondered if you’d be in.”

“Can it, Willie. I don’t do small talk and you’re no bloody good at it. Give me a beer.” Don’t think I’ve ever seen something non demonic move so quick.

“Right, sure Spike, one beer, right away and on the house. Sort of a welcome back present.”

“Right ‘cause you’re just so glad to see me, I can just tell by the way your hands are shaking.” Little arsehole. He went a nasty shade of pasty when I walked in and now he’s all in grovel mode. It’s kind of heart warming if you’re into that kind of thing

“Um, sure Spike, whatever you say. Do you want a chaser with that? Got a nice O Neg, very full bodied, highly recommended.”

“No thanks, prefer my drink at the proper temperature.” I eye his neck speculatively, just for fun, but I really don’t want food poisoning. One thing I’ll say though, he has his ear to the ground and that’s worth a little bit of aggravation now and then. “So what do you know? What’s happening? Anything I should know about going down?”

“Not much. Been really slow today. Nobody tried to open the Hellmouth, no virgin sacrifices and only one decapitation. Most excitement was a couple of Fyarls bickering about whether Separvro’s tastes better with the skin on or off.

“Same old, same old, and anyway everyone knows Sepavro skin just gets stuck in your teeth.” I flash a bit of fang just to make the point and keep him on his toes – it’s kind of fun.

“Oh, then there was that thing with the other Slayer. You know, the dark one. Kind of shocking, what with her and the Slayer’s boy.”

My hand’s in his hair, wrenching his head back and exposing his throat before he can get another word out. “Now you listen to me. The boy’s off limits to you and your nasty little speculations. Man’s sex life is his own business, even with a Slayer. And if I hear one tiny rumour, I’ll know where to come looking. Anyway, it won’t be happening again.“ Damn straight it won’t.

“Okay. Sure Spike. No offence meant. Don’t suppose he’ll want it to happen again anyways. Your girl trying to kill you, it’s enough to put you off someone  
for life.”

I’ve got Willie flat on his back on the bar before he can draw breath, one hand round his throat, the other round his balls and I squeeze the story out of him ‘til he’s wrung out like an old sponge. If it wasn’t for the crap he’s spouting, I’d have quite enjoyed myself. “Right then, believe I’ve got a few things to take care of that just won’t wait.” I can feel Willie staring at me as I storm out of the bar. Guess I’ve just given him another bit of gossip for the customers. Screw them; I’ve got a mouthy little git to find.

**********

Can’t believe it’s taken me two fucking hours to find the damn boy. Followed his scent half way round Sunnydale. Checked out all the usual places - home, Bronze, cemeteries. Finally picked it up at the school library. Should have gone there first. He’s obviously been here recently and by the stench in the air, my boy isn’t happy. I track the trail back through the town, killing a couple of Laurus demons just to take the edge off things. If they’re stupid enough to get in my way, they’re way too stupid to keep on living. I can hear voices now. The Slayer and the little witch, and they grate on my nerves like fingers on a blackboard as their pitch gets higher and higher. They’re interrupted by another voice, slower and deeper, pouring oil on the waters, calming the mood. The voices settle and I can feel myself settle with them. They’re standing at the red head’s gate, all three of them. Boy’s trapped against the fence between them, his jacket pulled tight around him, but I can still see a line of bruises circling his neck. He looks tired and defensive, but his voice is calm and almost bright, hiding his wounds from Pinky and Perky. Christ the witch should have tried out for the cheerleading squad; she’s so damn good at waving pompoms for the Slayer. And her blondeness’s got her hand on his shoulder, petting him like he’s her damn dog – bloody cheek.

“So, anyway. You guys okay? Delivered safe and sound. No nasties, so Slayer’s mission accomplished. Just got to do a swing past Angel’s place to see how he’s doing with her skanky badness, then I’m Restfield and Sunnyacres bound. Who knew romantic moonlight strolls through graveyards killing the spawns of Hell was a valid career choice?” Red’s bouncing like a cartoon character, nodding with every word, and the boy looks like he really wants to say something but can’t find the energy to take them both on at once. I tune back in and the Slayer’s still wittering on. “What’s a girl to do? It’s tough but hey, if the evil undead is an ugly unwashed metal head and I’m a cute bouncy superhero, well what can I say, I didn’t write the script. Maybe I’ll get the casting rights. Anyway, you two okay if I head on out? Xan, you don’t need to worry, Angel’s dealing with Faith. So, you staying with Will tonight?”

He’s trying to put a brave face on things, but any moron can see he just wants to curl up in a corner.

“No. Thanks for worrying. Guess I’ll just mosey on home. If I don’t show face from time to time, the folks start to think I’m just a figment of their very lurid imaginations. Couldn’t let them off that easily, and before you ask, no I don’t need an escort. I’ll be fine, trust me – would I lie to you?”

I can’t believe they’re buying this bullshit, but they just keep on proving me wrong. Kind of heartening to know you can depend on something like that.

“Okay, well if you’re sure. Just keep to the lit areas and watch your back. There’s still a pile of bads that want to kill you. Just ‘cause we got one doesn’t mean that you can relax.” He’s fingering the bruising at his throat and she looks suitably embarrassed. “Sorry, not helping here, am I? I’m fussing and I’ll just go now.” She turns to leave and then looks back, her concern obvious. “I could still walk you home?”

“Buffy!”

“Okay, going, gone. Straight home now mister, don’t make me come after you.”

I watch her go and she’s trying not to look back. I give her points for at least being a little worried. I turn my attention back to the red head. This is where the real trouble’s going to start.

“Xander?” He’s got his eyes fixed on the Slayer’s back, trying not to have the next conversation. “I don’t understand. Why Faith?”

“What do you mean?” His tone is harsher than normal and she’s squirming. He knows exactly what she means; he just can’t help giving back a little bit of the hurt from the big teenage break up. “You mean, why did I have sex with Faith, or why did I go back and try to help her?” She’s all flustered now, and I think she really doesn’t want the answer to either.

“It’s just that after our thing and all the fallout, Oz and I worked it out, but you and Cordy didn’t. And I just thought that maybe the thing with Faith was your way of getting back at me.“ She can see the look on his face and knows she’s said exactly the wrong thing, and tries to back peddle. “See, I realise boys have hormones too. That’s what it was. You’re a healthy teenage male. Of course your hormones are going to make you do stuff and if you liked it, you’d want more. It’s obvious, natural. Makes the whole bizarre dating choices thing more logical – Miss French, the mummy girl, Cordy... It was like your time of the month or something.” I think about handing her a shovel, but she’s digging a nice big hole all on her own. No help required.

“Okay, two things. First, you forgot to add yourself to that list of my dating disasters, and second, I didn’t date Faith. We had sex.” She’s making little protesting noises, but he steamrollers right on. “So you’re saying I slept with Faith because I couldn’t control myself and that I went back and tried to help her because subconsciously I wanted to do it again? So the whole getting strangled and humiliated was just the result of some teenage hormone induced pressure cooker? Yeah Will, you’re right. I’m eighteen. I’m a boy, in case you hadn’t noticed. Sex is a thing and Faith was there and it happened. It was amazing, life-changing and quick. At the time I thought we were Romeo and Juliet, but that lasted about as long as the afterglow. We connected, once. End of story. But it sure as hell didn’t happen because I was getting back at you, or Cordy. Not everything is about you Will, or about Buffy, or even about the Hellmouth. Sometimes I do have a mind of my own and am capable of making an independent decision without running it through committee first.“ She goes to interrupt him but he stops her with one stare. “You want to know why I went back? Because everyone deserves a chance to explain. Did Giles or you actually ask what happened with Finch and give her time to explain. I know Buffy was there, but she doesn’t exactly see straight when it comes to Faith, and I can understand that, what with the whole shifting of blame and all. I heard the story and yes it stank, but maybe if we were a little less righteous, she might trust us just a little bit more. I’m sorry Will, you want me to say I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have tried to help, but I don’t agree.”

“But she tried to kill you.”

“Yes she did. And yes it was terrifying and I’ll probably be having flashbacks for years. But at the time I thought she deserved to have someone at least try to help her. I couldn’t just sit there and assume I knew all the answers. Not ‘til I’d asked the question. You ever seen Twelve Angry Men?” She nodded, looking confused. “Well in this case Henry Fonda got it wrong, and old Lee J Cobb was right all along. But you can’t just assume that right from the start. I was wrong, but at least now I know it.

“Xander, I’m sorry. It’s just that I worry about you. Buffy does too. You’ve just been acting so not like you recently and you don’t hang out so much and you’re all quiet and broody and I just don’t want you to get hurt. Neither of us do. If you like, I could teach you some self protection spells? Although probably not. You and magic don’t do so well.” She’s looking at him with those big eyes. Jesus, they ought to be registered as a bloody weapon. I can see him shrinking into himself. You know if I was a proper evil villain, I’d be rubbing my hands and cackling right now. Think I should get a white cat – would make a decent poker stake when I’d done the whole evil mastermind bit. They can’t even see it, the Slayer or the red head. Emasculation disguised as concern. I’m sure there’s a sex discrimination law somewhere that they’re breaking. Everything they say, every comment, every joke just makes them less. But he just lets them get away with it. Takes it on and absorbs it. They don’t see him changing, but I do. He’s learning. It’s hidden just now, gradual, and it doesn’t even look like he’s studying. Education by osmosis you could say - every crack, every jibe, every patronising comment and every coffee run and he’s learning. Get the feeling I’m just the vamp to give him a little extra tutoring and I wouldn’t like to be the super friends when he graduates. She’s pawing him now, trying to make him listen to her, administering her version of help and he’s just dying to get away. Get the feeling that he won’t go straight home, despite what he promised the Slayer.

“Will, I’ve got to go. It’s late and you should go in. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” She goes to protest, but he just turns and strides away, hunched shoulders the only indication of his state of mind. I watch the girl ‘til she goes inside, just to be sure she doesn’t try to follow him. That’s my job.

**********  
He’s all forward motion, rushing and tripping in his hurry to get away. Don’t know where he’s headed, but it’s enough simply not to be there, listening to Red pet him and cut off his balls. So, what now? Boy’s hurting and confused. Question is, is it time to hook the fish, or just have a little play? I still have no idea why I want him. Not as if I can ask anyone. The Poof would say it was all down to that Parent-Teachers night thing, what with him up for a worst actor Oscar and the lad being all scared and mouthy and smelling so damn enticing. Bet he’d say there was some old Aurelian lore symbolism shite that I was responding to. Bollocks to that. Boy’s just a pretty piece. Thought so from the start when I came to see the Slayer in action. But he has kind of got to me. Intriguing, that’s the word I’m looking for. He makes me curious and here we go again, dancing full circle.

He’s walking towards the park, one eye still on the lookout. He’s upset, but still knows to watch the nightlife. Said before he’s not stupid. He shimmies up the wrought iron gates and I’m surprised to see such grace in a teenage body. Wonder what else he’s hiding from his friends? I could climb the gates after him or even pick the lock, but a little twist of metal is so much more satisfying.

He’s sitting back on the postcard bench. Funny how it’s got a name now - in my head anyway. Obviously a favourite thinking spot. Not sure if I like the idea of him coming here on his own. White hats are supposed to stick together, sing school songs and the like. He shouldn’t be here, sitting on his tod. Right little nobby no-mates. And the worst thing is, they drove him here.

I saunter over to him and stand, lighting up and taking the air. He’s got his back to me, sitting sideways on the bench, legs up, hugging his knees like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He stiffens slightly as I approach and then settles again. I guess he knew it was me or else he’s got a serious death wish. I’m so close I could touch his shoulder, run my fingers through his hair, break his neck. But he doesn’t even budge. Balls of steel, this one. I shift round in front of him, holding his gaze for a moment, ‘til he drops his eyes back towards his knees. Right, now we’ve re-established the order of things I can take my time, maybe push things along a bit. I fish around in one of the pockets of my duster and pull out a flask. Unscrew the top carefully, not letting any of the good stuff go to waste. God, that goes down nice and smooth. The boy’s watching me warily, peering up through long lashes while still keeping his head half down and I go to offer him the flask, but he’s already shaking his head. Little bugger, shouldn’t make assumptions. Might not have been going to offer him some. He’s all hunched up, back rigid against the hard wood, fingers running hypnotically along the shiny brass plaque. _In memory of my beloved Lavinia. Yours always, Thomas_. Are there actually people walking around called Lavinia these days? Think old Tom would be well rid of her, must have been right embarrassing introducing her to people. Wonder if she had an accident with a barbecue fork? The boy shifts slightly and my attention moves back. He’s staring at a clump of trees like they hold the answers to the universe and I start to make another Douglas Adams comment when he interrupts.

“Foxes.” He’s looking at me oddly and I must admit I’m a little bit lost. “Is it true that they get hunted? I hadn’t really thought about it before. I mean, predator – evil, evil – bad, kill – bad. It’s so obvious. But I was sitting here before and this fox just trotted by. Out doing what foxes do. I’d never seen one, except on the TV, but they’re kind of difficult to miss. Came out of that thicket and just walked across in front of me and disappeared into the trees right here. It was so beautiful and it didn’t even register I was there. It was just intent on its purpose, doing what’s in its nature. Know what I mean. How can you punish something for doing what’s in its nature?”

Right then, not sure if he’s talking about me, the Slayer or himself, but if we’re going to get all philosophical I’d better get comfy. I put the flask back in a pocket and take a seat, nudging at his feet for space. He looks at me, startled and then twists round so he’s facing the right way. There’s about two feet between us and he can’t move any further without sitting on the arm of the seat. Time to take some control of this little scenario. Think he’s got some wounds which need lancing. “So, seems you make a habit of this, then. Sitting here brooding, I mean. Get points from the Poof if you carry on.” He’s about to protest when he realises the finer points of my comment.

“You’ve seen me here before?” He starts again before I can answer, if I was going to. “You were watching me, weren’t you? Last time I was here. I knew there was something out there, but just thought it was the Hellmouth vibe. Did you see the fox?”

“Saw you, saw the fox, saw the bloody grass grow, the length of time you sat there. What can I say, I’m nosy. Talking of which, going to tell me what really went down with the other Slayer? Last time I saw you, you were all flushed and hot for her but seems things have changed a bit since then. Heard she got a bit out of hand and you got in the way. That about the size of it?”

Part of him is just itching to tell me to sod off, but there’s such a temptation to dump on someone who isn’t going to cast his actions back in his face. Need to judge this one carefully. I grope for the flask again and this time push it into his hand. He starts to refuse, but sees the look on my face and takes a long pull, coughing as the liquor burns a track down his throat, like it’s finally releasing something buried deep inside.

“I don’t understand. I just wanted to help. She was so lonely, so alone and I just wanted to be her friend. Is that so hard? Does there always have to be a reason? Nothing makes sense anymore, but I don’t think it ever did. Not since Buffy came to Sunnydale. I killed Jesse. Took a piece of wood and jammed it through his chest. Wouldn’t have known to do that before. Wouldn’t have known to follow him into a crypt before. I know I don’t really blame Buffy, not her fault, but sometimes I almost wish she hadn’t come. That I didn’t have to ever know all this stuff. I killed my best friend. I lied to Buffy about Angel. My fault he got sent to hell. And Buffy left and Joyce cried and Giles drank. I hurt Cordy and Willow and Oz. Can’t leave well alone, I just have to meddle. Always thinking I know better.”

He takes another quick swig of courage and I take the flask out of his hand. Want him talking and trusting, not drunk.

“I thought we had a connection, you know. Me and Faith. That night, she took control and it felt so good. Steered me round the curves, she said and man those were some curves. It meant something, I really believed that. And when I heard about Finch and the way the gang were talking, I had to see her. I thought of her sitting in that cesspit, scared and alone and I needed to prove that we would help. That I could help. I think it was as much for me as for her. You know Buffy laughed when I told her about Faith and me, and Willow looked so betrayed and I needed to prove that it meant something. That she felt that way to. So I went to the motel and offered to help.”

He’s picking at the splinters on the arm of the old bench, oblivious when one slides under his skin. I can see the blood welling up, trapped by one little piece of wood.

“It’s funny, I’ve always been ‘Normal Guy’, fit for the coffee run and lightening the atmosphere when things got too surreal. But it’s not exactly rocket science. I’ve been waiting for them to realise it. That they don’t need me. Not unless there’s an order for a large half caff latte with extra sprinkles. And it hurts, sometimes. I kind of thought that if I hung around long enough I’d pick stuff up, be of use.” He looks up, searching for recognition, but this is just a bit close to the bone and I’m not sure I want to empathise. I’m thinking about Angelus and the whole sorry mess with Dru when the despair in his voice pulls me back. “The contribution thing, you know? It’s almost like copying homework. It doesn’t matter that it’s not really yours. It’s the grade that counts. It’s like I thought if I hung around the super kids long enough, they would finally see me, really see me. Told you I was stupid. See that’s why I thought with Faith, that just for once I was ahead of the game - talking to her, trying to reach her, that was something that I thought ‘Normal Guy’ could do. No need for spells, or super strength or musty books. No copied homework – just talking. I told her, I just wanted to be her friend and she didn’t laugh. She just looked at me like I was a piece of meat. She was on top of me, mocking and touching and grinding and her hands were round my throat, squeezing. She almost killed me and I was hard. How sick is that? Part of me wishes she’d finished the job. I wouldn’t have to see the disgust from the rest of the gang. And to cap it all, it had to be Deadboy to the rescue. So much for ‘Normal Guy’ having anything to contribute. Maybe I should just be ‘Go The Hell Away Guy’. Stupid, incompetent Xander. Can’t do anything right. No wonder they don’t want me involved.”

He’s shaking, trying to keep it all in, desperate not to cry. Not in front of me. Bet this one doesn’t cry in front of anyone. I should be wallowing in his hurt, savouring every hitched breath, but I can’t. He’s so raw and there’s nothing left to flay. My hand’s rubbing circles on his back and I look at it like it belongs to someone else. “S’alright pet. Just let it out, there’s no shame. No one here to see you. Remember, you’re anonymous in the dark. You tried to do the right thing. Not your fault she was too far gone. Not your fault your little gang can’t see what’s under their nose.”

He’s still fighting it and I card my fingers tentatively through his hair, petting gently. Dru used to like that when she got upset. I can feel him stiffen just for a second and then it starts. No sound, just salt on his cheeks. Trails of grief which have little to do with Faith. He’s trembling, muscles so tight, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Pet, look at me.” He glances up and shies away, shame and desperation in his eyes. “Pet, look at me.” This time there’s just a little bit of steel in the command. I shift slightly and he doesn’t move away. Just looks at me warily and then back at his feet. “Come here, it’s okay.” I ease my arm round his waist and pull gently, but firmly. One tiny moment of resistance and he gives in. Not gives up, this one never gives up. Just lets me have control for a moment. Brave boy. He’s still staring at his boots, silent sobs shaking through his lanky frame. Still got some growing to do, this one. But reckon he’s grown up far too fast. I’ve got one hand in his hair, the other smoothing gently across tight shoulders, pushing the hurt from his soul.

Not sure how long we sit there, not speaking. Call myself all sorts of names for being such a ponce, but it’s nice to have the contact, the warmth. Need to move carefully now. One wrong step and he’s going to hate himself for opening up, making himself so vulnerable. I’d move on to the next part of my plan, if I had a bloody plan. Then he’s moving, twisting out of my hold and it looks like I’m just going to have to improvise. I open my mouth to speak, but he gets there before me.

“I need to go. It’s late.” He’s looking around like he only just noticed how dark it is. Hasn’t quite connected he’s sitting with one of the things he’s scared of. Not sure how that makes me feel. He starts to stand, legs shaky and grabs my shoulder to steady himself. I start to tell him to watch the coat when he smoothes the leather down gently. “Sorry.”

“Where will you go?” My question catches him by surprise and I can see the confusion in his eyes. The future wasn’t quite part of his game plan at the moment and he’s looking around like someone might give him an answer. I ease up from the bench and move towards him slowly. Don’t want him to bolt. “Are you going to go home? What will your mum and dad say about these?” I finger the bruises on his neck, stroking gently and he flinches once before his eyes flutter shut, just as he flushes with shame. “Bit of explaining to do, I reckon. But do what you think’s best. Could go to one of your friends, I suppose? Sure they’d be glad to give you a place to kip for the night.” He’s shaking his head before I’ve even got the words out. Just like I knew he would. Easy now, almost there. Just one more turn of the screw. “Suppose I’d better get going myself. Don’t want me hanging round. Can’t be anonymous if you’re not alone.” He looks back at his feet like he’s not sure where to point them and then back at the bench, like he’s working out whether it will take him full length. I think I’ve gone too far.

“Where will you go?” His words echo my own question, but the tone is so hesitant.

“Me? Just thought I’d take the air, see what’s going on. Then head for bed. Haven’t got anything proper sorted, you know, with not intending to stay and all. Did find a half decent warehouse with an empty basement. Not much, but it’s dry. Nicked a couple of mattresses and some other stuff off the back of removal truck. Just enough to be comfortable for a few weeks. There’s only so long you can live out the back of your car, you know?” I count the beats of his heart and judge the length of the silence. Eight, Nine, Ten. “Could come with me if you like. Just for the night. Got a spare mattress and a couple of blankets. Just a thought. Give you time to get your head together. Things’ll look different in the morning.” He’s standing there, rigid. One hand moulded round his waist, holding in the hurt, the other picking at the hem of his jacket. Come on boy, you know you’re going to say yes. Don’t prolong the misery.

“Okay. Thank you.” It’s so soft I almost miss it. Almost. Right then, result. I turn to go but he’s just standing, looking uncertain. Like he needs direction to even move. I slide my hand up his arm and pull, just at the back of his neck. “Looks like rain. Come on, time we went home.” He looks at me like he doesn’t know what the word means, but doesn’t resist the implicit command.

We move off and he’s walking beside me, docile and quiet. I like obedience, but the silence is beginning to get to me. I spin tales about some of the places I visited on my trip, stuff to pique his interest, bring a spark of life back to his eyes. Doesn’t mean any of them are true, but they do the trick. By the time we reach the warehouse, he’s looking brighter, even asked the odd question. Still unsure, but more alive than he was. I fiddle with the lock on the basement door and then we’re in. He stands at the door for a moment, still hesitant. Realising at last where he is. Gathering all that courage in shaking hands he moves forward and drops his backpack on one of the mattresses. I’m standing watching him, gauging his reaction.

“So, are you going to bite me?” He makes the question sound almost casual. Like he’s not really sure he’s bothered one way or the other.

“Wasn’t planning on it, pet. Not unless you really want me to?” He’s looking confused, like he’s really struggling with his answer.

“No. Thanks. Think I’ve probably had my quota of near death experiences for the week. Trying to hoard my allocation at bit. Now we know the Mayor’s a black hat I can’t believe we’ll get to Graduation without something going to hell, probably literally.”

Right, humour on the Hellmouth. Looks like we’re back on more familiar ground. For some reason I’m not laughing. He flops down on the mattress, wincing as one of the springs makes itself known. If it’s a problem he can always share mine. He shifts cautiously, looking for a comfy spot like a dog turning in its basket and I can’t help but watch him move. He’s all legs and hair and sharp corners and looks completely fuckable and totally lost.

“It’s funny, you know. I just don’t know if my life can get any stranger. I get almost killed by a psychotic superchick, get patronised by a trainee witch and the original, accept no substitute Slayer and pour my heart out to a notoriously dangerous killer who offers me a bed for the night with no strings attached. Maybe I’m not so ‘Normal Guy’ after all.”

I take off my duster and stretch, easing the kinks of the day. I’m not used to the agony uncle routine and I can feel the ache deep in my muscles – holding back the demon from the want, take, have. Easy to kill two birds with one stone, and I stretch again, showing off the merchandise as I look like I’m considering his question. Shit I’m good. Multi tasking, drop dead gorgeous vamp, that’s me and I just know he’s hypnotised. Suppose I’d better put him out his misery as he’s obviously looking for some deep reply. “That’s about the size of it, pet. You’re a lot of things to a lot of people, but you left ‘Normal’ about three exits back. It’s just time to expand your definitions, that’s all.” I hand him a couple of blankets before he can say anything else and he just wraps himself up and curls up as small as he can.

“Thanks Spike.” His voice is muffled through the cocoon of blankets, but they can’t hide the pain and confusion and pathetic gratitude wrapped up in those two little words, and I can’t help grinning.

“You’re welcome, pet. Now get some sleep. Things’ll look different in the morning.” I light up a fag and stand watching him, enjoying the sound of his heartbeat in the silence. Didn’t say anything about no strings attached. It’s just the length of the string that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that’s interested, Dixon of Dock Green was a very moral BBC police series which started in the mid 1950’s. You can find out more about it [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dixon_of_Dock_Green)  
> Pinky and Perky were a couple of very disturbing puppet pigs who had their own kids TV show on the BBC in the ‘60’s. There is a reason I’m the way I am you know! There’s more about them [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinky_and_Perky) Good grief, I do worry myself, the amount of trivia I carry around in my brain!


	7. Perceptions 6: Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike contemplates and Xander learns some new moves

_**Perceptions 6: Learning**_  
Warnings – Adult for naughty male touching  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

Spent hours watching him tonight. Guarding his sleep, imagining his warmth. So damn enticing, all tanned skin and dark lashes, curled like a girls. Looks so young when he’s sleeping, almost peaceful, like the silence can give him some sanctuary and wipe away his tears. I feel like a voyeur and something suspiciously like a long dead conscience uncurls somewhere at the base of my spine.

Don’t know how many fags I’ve had, but suddenly the place feels stale and claustrophobic and I need to get some air. Put some distance between me and that enticing bundle of blankets before I do something I’ll regret later. I’ve put too much work in to bollocks things up now. I grab my flask and make for the door. Close enough to keep an eye on him, far enough away to avoid temptation.

The air’s cool and heavy with the promise of coming rain and I can almost feel the threat of lightening prickle under my skin. I wonder if this could get any more gothic? Lots of beasties out tonight I’ll bet, but it’s not my kind of hunting weather. I’ve got my prey right here all spread out like some gourmet feast and I can feel the hunger and the want shift restlessly inside me at the same time as I try to convince myself about the joys of delayed gratification.  
.  
I can almost hear Dru whispering in the back of my mind, talking about kittens and claws and soft furry underbellies and I bury her voice under memories of one intoxicating human boy - watching him and the witch groping and scratching and falling apart; winding him up about the meaning of life and telling him about true love; watching him dream and read postcards in the dark. I can see him celebrating the loss of his cherry and listening to me mourn the death of one hundred years of devotion. I can still almost hear Dru, but she’s so faint now and my senses are filled with this boy. So many details, so many facets, so many complications. I didn’t mean things to go this far. Thought it’d be fun to play with him for a while, right under the Slayer’s nose. God knows he was ripe for it. But he talked about foxes and friendship and being fucked and it’s not a game anymore. I said he was changing, learning and growing right in front of them and I want the man that he’s becoming. Want to mould and teach and guide and show him just how beautiful and strong and dark he could be. It’s already begun; he just doesn’t know it yet. He’s beginning to trust me and I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on or more terrified in my life.

I’m standing in the shadows watching him sleep. This is where I live and where I kill and I need him to understand that. I want to touch him; I want to fuck him and hold him and protect him. I want him to turn his back on his little gang of heroes and give me his devotion and his soul. Want him on his back in my bed and kneeling on the floor at my feet. Want those pretty pink lips round my cock, whispering his confessions and screaming my name. Want those eyes fixed on me, for guidance, instruction and permission to live. He’s lying on some grotty mattress in a dark airless warehouse and this is where he’ll live his life. With me, in the shadows

I take another pull from the flask and look back into the half darkness of the barren room. Small shattered windows set high at street level, the only illumination in the gloom, and I watch him. His face is ghostly, glowing in the soft pale light of the gibbous moon. He’s breathing gently, peacefully and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so hypnotic in my life. In, out. In, out. One, two. One, two, and I’m stroking in time. Scraping the heel of my hand across coarse black denim, feeling the bite of metal teeth rasping against hard flesh. One, two. In, out. Up, Down. He’s moaning in his sleep, muttering and whimpering and the scent of fear rises in the air as he starts to squirm, clutching at the ragged edge of second hand blankets. Heart rate increasing like percussion and the feel of metal against skin intensifies, as he fights for every breath. _Don’t, no, please, stop, please, yes_. His fingers are at his throat, clutching and scraping at blue, black bruises. He’s hurting himself and I stand motionless, waiting for him to wake, but he’s too deep under, drowning in her power and her hate. He’s pulling me down with him and I push harder against cold steel, following his spiral of pleasure and pain. His heart’s drumming out of his chest and I’m gasping to the beat, following the rhythm. This is where he belongs. This is what I want and this is what I need. There’s salt in the air and an anguished whimpering and I’m riding the torrent of his fear and shame and lust and hurt, ‘til the waves crash and I shudder in time with his tears.

**********

He’s waking, slowly. Drifting up from heavy sleep and I wonder just what he’ll remember. He’s turning, muttering quietly to himself, still just half awake. I can see the moment it hits. That shift from half asleep to awareness. Remembering the night before, realising where he is. He looks like shit. Heavy dark circles under his eyes, skin pale under his tan and just the suspicion of a beard across his jaw. He’s been having such bad dreams, but I wonder what he’s thinking, waking up next to one of his normal nightmares? I think freaked is the expression de jour as I watch him scrabble for his jacket and his bag, trying for cool and calm and just looking like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights. Right then, time to spring the trap.

“About time you were up. Sun’s been up for a while. Thought you were going to be passed out all day. So, what’s the plan? Take it you’ve got a plan?” He’s bristling, all sleep banished and I squash the urge to tell him how cute the angry puppy look is on him.

“I need to get home, get changed, get to school. I’ve still got time.” He glances at his watch briefly and I can’t help noticing the cartoon character. He’s so damn young, but that’s kind of the point – malleable, that’s the word.

“That you have pet. Be able to avoid the parents when you get in will you? Still don’t want them asking questions about those bruises I suppose. Not exactly faded over night.” He’s got his hand on his neck, and he’s looking round the room distractedly, searching for something. “Lost something?”

“Umm, silly really. I was just looking for a mirror to see how bad they looked, but stupid me, vampire lair’s not exactly going to come equipped with a vanity unit.”

“Some people just know they look good, don’t have to check themselves every five minutes.” I can feel a smirk coming on, but he’s looking so unsure, and I force myself back to seriousness. “Those bruises are pretty nasty. Going to turn all sorts of pretty colours over the next day or so. Bet the little chickies will have a field day when they see them in the daylight. But you’re right, school’s important. Don’t be minding what a few narrow minded busybodies might say. I’m sure none of the teachers will even notice.” He’s shrinking visibly with every word as my reality sinks into his tired mind. Told him things would look different in the morning. Just didn’t mention they might look worse.

“Great, that’s just great. Can’t go home, school is so not looking an attractive option right now. I’ll go back to the park. Me, Lavinia and Tom are getting to be really close.”

“Could do that I suppose, but I kind of suspect it’s a favourite spot of yours. Sort of place other people would think to look?” He’s glaring at me, wide eyed and resentful as I take away his options, one by one.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do, oh wise one? Where am I going to go? Can’t exactly stay here now, can I?”

He’s pacing now, clutching his backpack like a shield. All his fear and confusion spilling out as anger, as he mutters to himself about stupid Hellmouths and know it all vampires. I wait until he’s turned back towards me. “Could stay here if you like. It’s a big room, not exactly going to get in the way.” He’s stopped in mid pace, staring at me.

“What? Stay here, today with you. All day? Are you serious?”

“No need to be rude now. Could just as easily take the offer back. I’m sure spending the day with the Slayer and witch is a much more attractive option.” He wants to tell me to go to hell; I can see it in his face. But his brain is processing my words, presenting the arguments and I can see he’s losing the battle.

“But vampires sleep during the day. I’m not good at being quiet and anyway I’ll be bored here on my own.”

It’s the final futile volley of a man who knows he’s lost the war and I’ve got the grace to acknowledge the hit. “That’s true, we do, usually. But I got a little bit of exercise last night while you were kipping and it always leaves me a bit wired. Not ready to sleep just yet. Anway, you not got any homework to do in that bag of yours? Should keep you out of mischief.” He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, but he’s put the bag back down on the mattress next to his jacket. That’s right; you’re not going anywhere just yet.

“Homework? Right, and you’re going to help me with that are you? Know much about algebra or The Red Badge of Courage, because I’d love your insight for my assignments. Don’t suppose I can be accused of copying if the person’s already dead.”

Mouthy little git, but it’s good to see a bit of spark back about him. Much more fun. Never paid much attention in algebra, but I do know something about courage and so does he. He just needs to realise it. “Less of the lip, mate or I’ll deliver you to the Slayer myself. Now settle down and we’ll get along just fine.”

He sinks back down onto the mattress, all the fire suddenly burned out of him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s just weird, you know. Evil soulless vampire being easier to talk to than my friends. It’s not supposed to work like that.”

“Never listen to anyone who tries to tell you how it’s supposed to work. Told you, you just need to expand your definitions a bit, pet. Now get on with your work. I’ve got a little bit of energy to get rid of.”

Right, Plan B, part 2 now into action. I strip off my tee-shirt, taking care not to look his way and wander across to the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. People who own gyms really should have better security. I can feel him watching me as I stretch and move up to start my routine. Muscles bulging and releasing with every thump of flesh on leather. Such a lovely sound. Nearly as nice as leather on flesh. He’s doing well, a whole ten minutes without so much as a peep out of him. I think he’s just hypnotised. I pause for a moment, stretching again and his voice cuts through the sudden silence.

“Is that difficult? To learn, I mean.” His fingers are playing with the frayed edge of a blanket, like he thinks he’s talking out of turn.

“Not so much. It’s all about technique, not about strength. But the Watcher will have told you all that, I suppose. Probably got your little gang doing all sorts of stuff to get you in shape to face the beasties around here.” God I’m good. That’s the equivalent of a good left hook and he’s back on the ropes.

“Not really. I mean, he and Buffy train. That’s his job. And he’s been helping Willow with her spells….” He trails off, not really wanting to follow his own train of thought.

“Can teach you if you like? Probably never going to be Mike Tyson, but it’s not about the weight. It’s the craft that counts. Come on, come over here and I’ll see what you’re made of. Must have picked up a trick or two just watching the Slayer. She’s good, no mistake about that. Fast, inventive, but she’s no science, know what I mean? That what I meant about the craft. That’s the secret.” He’s still wary, but I know I’ve got him hooked. Just the idea that he might learn something the Slayer doesn’t know and he’s well gone. “First things first, take off your shirt, pet, and your shoes.” He’s blushing and stammering like a little virgin but I’m not standing for that. “You’re going to sweat and you’ve only got one shirt. Might as well keep it clean(ish). As for your shoes, just feel the floor under your feet, feel your balance. It’s all in your balance.” He’s discarded both shirt and shoes and he’s acting like he’s naked. Amazing how one simple pair of Levis can look like the most expensive bow on a present that you’ve ever seen. “Okay then, let’s get to it.” I pull him towards me and position him in front of the bag. Slip in behind and start to guide his arms and hands through the moves, correcting balance, positioning hips and elbows and chest and he’s learning with every single touch. Oh yeah, I’m so damn good.

**********

“I can’t believe I’m so wiped, but I don’t think I could sleep now if I tried. Wow, that was some buzz.” He’s bouncing around the room like he’s on speed or something. Although I bet this one doesn’t do drugs. Just say no and all that shite. Bet I can get him to say yes.

“Can give you some more lessons if you like. Just touched on the basics there, but there’s a lot more to learn than how to hit the bag. Just a thought.” Lessons for him, paying attention to him, it’s like leaving breadcrumbs out for the birds, just too damn irresistible. He’s still bouncing and it’s beginning to make me tired, but I can be patient and I wait for his answer.

“Really, you’d do that? That would be great.” He’s stopped suddenly in the middle of the room and looks back at me. “Why would you do that for me? And anyway, how on earth could I tell Buffy that I’m taking boxing lessons from the evil undead.” He’s biting his lip like he really does want me to give him an answer that he can work with.

“Right, first of all, not everything has an agenda. Enjoyed the lesson today. Knew I’d be a good teacher. You’ve got potential and if it’ll stop you getting eaten by some random beastie then that has to be a plus. And as for the Slayer? Don’t tell her. Simple really. You don’t have to justify your life to her, do you? Tell her every time you go for a piss or a wank?” Now he’s flushing and all that lovely blood is right under his skin. “It’ll only be for a couple of weeks then I’ll be out of your hair, so take advantage while you can. I won’t offer again.”

He’s still humming and hawing but then there’s that little spark of courage shining through again. “Okay, that would be great, thank you.” Good boy, knew he’d see it my way. About time he stretched his wings a bit.

I wander over and open the small metal bound trunk by my mattress. Okay, there’s just the thing to relax the atmosphere. Got my back to the boy and just as well at the moment. Don’t want him to bolt. Unwrap the foil and there she is. So innocuous and so damn enticing. No wonder they named a perfume after her. It’s all part of the ritual – taking out the papers, folding them together, spreading the tobacco. I glance back but he’s just standing by the bag, eyes slightly glazed, stroking the leather. Oh that’s good, we’re half way there. Now, just a sprinkle of sheer intoxication - bliss. Insert cardboard and roll. I could do this in my sleep, but sleep’s the last thing I’m after right now. I light up and take a long slow pull, then another. Drawing out the moment, just enjoying the start of the buzz unwinding in my head. Oh yes, that’s just the thing to change the mood. By the time I turn back, he’s sitting cross legged on the mattress, still shirtless, and glowing. Sweat on the surface, blood pumping underneath and I’m hard again. I take another hit, exhaling slowly and listen to his heartbeat and his breath and I could drown right here.

“Spike, what are you doing? You okay? You sort of went away there. Already did the joke about the paramedics and the undead. Don’t like to repeat myself, but the material is a bit limited. So, you okay?”

“I’m just fine, pet. Getting better by the moment.”

“Spike, umm, that’s not a cigarette is it?”

Funny how someone who’s experienced so much can still be so damn naïve sometimes. “Full marks, love. Obviously been doing your homework like a good boy.”

“Right, okay. I should definitely be going, leave you to it. What ever it is. Thanks for the lesson. That was fun. We’ll definitely do it again some time.”

He’s starting to gather up his bits to leave, but that really isn’t going to happen. Not ‘til I’m ready. “Xander. Stop.” There’s just a little bit of steel in my tone, just enough to make him listen. Excellent; training is right on schedule. “Sit down and stop panicking. What do you think is going to happen? Big bad vampire going to take advantage of the sweet innocent boy. Although not so innocent these days. You were here all night, pet. If I was going to hurt you it would have happened by now.” He’s looking worried but can’t argue with the logic, thank Christ. That’s me, logic vamp.

“What is it? The stuff you’re smoking, I mean.” He’s looking at the joint in my hand, confused but a little bit intrigued.

“Just a little smoke. Nothing heavy.” If I could see my reflection, I think my nose would be three inches longer. “Smells a bit funny but the effect is outstanding.” This hadn’t been part of Plan B, but it just seems right. I move closer and hold out my hand and he’s looking at me like he’s standing on the edge of the deep end. Gathering his courage – this one doesn’t need to read about it in books, he just needs to look in the mirror. His hand’s shaking but he looks me in the eye and takes the smoke out my hand. He squeezes it clumsily and I grab his wrist and slid my hand down towards his trembling fingers. “Gently, just hold it. That’s it, not need to strangle it.” My other hand moves up to brush lightly across the bruises on his throat as he stares mesmerised by the drug in his hand. He’s blushing again, stammering and scrabbling for words.

“Sorry, I don’t know what to do. Obviously you inhale, but I’ve never done this before and I don’t know if I should and you probably think I’m a wimp, and…”

I stop the babble by lifting his hand and placing the joint between his lips. “Shush now. It’s easy. Just suck gently, and take the smoke into your lungs, slowly now, hold it and then exhale. Just breathe and follow the smoke. Feel it in your head. Good boy, that’s it. Just remember to breathe.”

He’s a quick learner this one, just a few false starts and a coughing fit and he’s doing it like a real pro. Had to grab my smoke back off him at one stage, but now he’s as relaxed as I’ve seen him. Lying on that grotty mattress, long, long legs askew, still bare-chested, eyes heavy and out of focus. He’s got no idea how he looks. He’s staring at the ceiling, squinting at the cobwebs and the dark corners and he’s giggling.

“Look at the sky, Spike. It looks funny from here. Sort of orange. It’s pretty, clouds look so soft.”

“That right, pet. Sure, they’re right pretty colours. Bit difficult to see the clouds with us being in a basement, but you tell me what else you can see.”

He’s up on his elbows, looking at me intently and I wonder just what’s in his head. “Does it hurt? Your hair, does it hurt being that colour?” I’m not sure what to answer, but he’s already off again. Talk about random. “Willow has nice hair, all red and fiery. It’s so pretty. And Giles, Giles has a strange nose. Like his glasses are part of his face. Can’t take them off now, no sir. Buffy’s nice. All blond and curves and so sweet. Like summer fruit. Like peaches.” He rolls onto his side and looks at me, all earnest and serious and stoned out of his head. “Peaches are evil you know. You put them in the bowl in the kitchen and they’re hard as nails and then you turn your back for two minutes and they’re all mooshy. Sad really.” I pass him the smoke again and he takes a deep, slow draw. “Shouldn’t be doing this you know. It’s bad and Willow’s going to look at me funny. See that corner up there? Looks just like a fruit bowl. There’s apples and oranges and pears and bananas. I like bananas.”

“I just bet you do love.” I take the joint back from him and he grumps slightly.

“You know, only fruit I like – bananas. Look nice is the bowl. Such pretty colours. My grandma used to feed me fruit. Vegetables as well. Didn’t like that. Grapes and stuff. Too squishy. She tried to trick me. Feeding me jelly, but there’s no fooling the Xandman. Still fruity badness. Sneaking it in under the peanut butter, but I knew. And raspberries, they’ve got too many seeds, get stuck in my teeth. Tried to feed me crab apple jelly once. Yuck, too sour. And what the hell is a crab apple anyway. An apple that’s caught crabs? Can fruit be sluts, do you think?” He’s peering up through his hair, a little frown creasing his forehead as he considers the big questions of the universe. “Do you think fruit can have sex?”

“Sure it can. Why do you think they have all those seeds?”

“Oh right. Didn’t think about that. Still don’t like seeds. You know if I was a fruit, I think I’d definitely be a banana. No seeds in a banana. There aren’t seeds in a banana are there? Maybe I’ve been swallowing them without knowing. I could have little baby bananas growing inside me, just waiting to burst out like the monster in Alien.” He’s look all worried now and crawls across to put his hand on my leg. “Spike, tell me there’s no seeds in bananas.”

“Don’t worry love. There are no seeds in bananas. I wouldn’t lie to you about something so important now, would I?” He settles down, reassured and I’ve got my hand in his hair, stroking gently, scratching lightly at his scalp. He’s arching unconsciously into my touch as if he were the kitten from Dru’s whispers and it looks like he’s going to purr any moment now. Just knew he’d be responsive if I took it slow. “Such a needy little kitten aren’t you.”

He’s got his head on my knee now, peering up through too long lashes. “I’m not a cat, Spike. And anyway, you’ve got a dog’s name. Can’t be a cat, don’t have a tail. Do I?” He starts to rise, looking anxiously for signs of a rogue appendage, but I pull him back so his head’s fully in my lap – creating just the right amount of pressure exactly where it’s needed. “No love, you’re not a cat. Remember you told me you wanted to be a banana?“ He looks puzzled for a moment and then smiles happily, wriggling a bit in agreement. Oh Christ, I think I’m going to pass out.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot. One of those nice greeny, just going to yellow ones. Not the ones with the black spots that are all squishy.”

“Nothing squishy about you love. You’re all fresh and firm. Bet you taste so sweet.” Got to be so careful now. I know I talked about delayed gratification, but this is too damn good to miss and any remaining shards of conscience drift way in a puff of heavy smoke. I’ve still got one hand in his hair, petting and scratching gently, keeping his attention while I start to move the other hand slowly across his belly, just smoothing down the fine covering of hair. He stiffens slightly just for a moment and then moans softly as I start to drag my fingers across the sensitive skin exposed at the top of his hip. “So sweet aren’t you love? Want to taste you. Can I taste you, see how sweet you are?” I’m stroking across one brown nipple and he shivers. Don’t think he knew about those. I move across to the other one and that’s definitely a purr. “Think you’re a cat after all, love. Maybe banana by day and cat by night. Like Clark Kent. Got your own secret identities.” His nipples are hard and so sensitive and I give them each a final caress and then head back south.

Soft feather touches down his ribcage and he’s whimpering now, begging for that little bit more. Now’s the moment of truth. Fingers creeping towards his fly, checking his heart rate, watching his eyes. They’re closed. Top button open, zip down, slowly, so slowly, one sharp tooth following another ‘til he’s peeled right open. “So beautiful aren’t you pet. Such a good boy, going to be my beautiful boy.” His breaths hitching now, and his hips are raised just that little bit more. He might hate me later, but he wants this right now, as much as I do.

Fingers on soft damp cotton and I’m rubbing in time with his breath. Coming full circle – in, out, up down. Kneading and stroking to the sound of his heart beat. Going to have him like this whenever I want. Going to teach him so many things about pleasure and pain and all the shades of grey in between. Rougher now and he’s whimpering and moaning with every stroke. Eyes open, black and fathomless and he’s so close now, so close, and I’m right there with him. One final scrape of nails full length and one hand on his neck pressing at midnight bruises and he’s taut and shuddering and I feel myself shift as I follow his flow.

Oh yeah, he’s probably going to hate me later, and so much for plans and slow progress - sometimes you’ve just got to take the opportunities that present themselves. And that was some present. Right now he’s just lying in my lap, half unconscious with pleasure, head smack in the middle of the wet patch. Just relaxing now, enjoying the moment, and I’ll deal with everything else later – when it’s time to move to Plan C. Marx once said religion was the Opium of the masses. With a little help from my friend, this little one’s going to worship at my feet for a very long time to come.


	8. Perceptions 7: Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the afternoon after the morning after the night before. What will happen when Xander wakes up….. read on McDuff!

_**Perceptions 7: Smoke and Mirrors**_  
Warnings – References to drug use and naughty male touching…  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

I could lie here all day, drowsy and sated, looking at this boy in my lap. Came so hard I thought he’d passed out, but then he yawned and burrowed deeper and drifted into sleep. Could spend weeks just soaking up his heat, listening to the rush of blood, so tantalising under soft skin. Question is now: - do I let him wake up like this and get the confrontation over with, or do I wrap him up and put him back on the other mattress? Could make him think the whole thing was just the result of a stressed out Slayer strangling dream. Though why he’d dream of me getting him off in that little scenario, I’m not sure. I may be egotistical, but I’m not stupid.

The key point to any strategy is to anticipate the next move and then be one step ahead, to counter it. He’s going to freak, no doubt about that. So the next question is: what form will it take?

 _a. Oh god, oh god, get off of me, you’re male – oh shit, does that mean I’m gay now?  
b. Oh god, oh god, get off of me, does this mean I’m a slut now?  
c. Oh god, oh god, get off of me, does this mean I’m under some kind of thrall, you nasty, evil, undead fiend?_

I’m kind of betting on a combination of all three, to be honest. But then, when was I ever honest? Bit late now for any more tactics and planning, ‘cause there’s a bit of squirming in my lap and oh shit, yes, right there. The boy’s got innate talent, just knew there was a reason I took to him. Okay, show time - just not sure if this is going to be a drama or a farce.

Shift, yawn, stretch, mutter. Oh yes, I really want to watch this every day. He’s such a mixture of innocence and something so corruptible, I’m just surprised he’s lasted as long as he has on the Hellmouth. Eyes fluttering open, squinting in the few shards of light filtering through grimy windows.

“Spike?”

“That’s me, love.” He’s stretching, not quite with it. Scratching at his chin, chest, belly and then hands travel down. It’s automatic, just doing what teenage hands do. Belly, hips, all bare flesh, and so far that’s just fine. No panic there. He’s been asleep, bare flesh is just fine. Hips, crotch, and then his fingers stop suddenly, resting on soft sticky cotton and here it comes. Bingo, right on schedule, freak time. I wish I had a camera.

He’s sitting up abruptly, looking anywhere but at me. Hauling his jeans up as he shuffles onto the cold stone floor, looking around like someone else might appear to give him some answers to the questions he really doesn’t want to ask.

“Right. Okay. Morning. It’s not morning is it? And it’s…” He looks at his watch and turns white under his tan. “5 o’clock, oh shit. I’ve been here all day. Missed school and the gang are going to be wondering where the hell I am and I’ve really got to go.” He reminds me of a puppy sticking his head under the bottom of the curtains and thinking it can’t be seen. If he just keeps talking about almost normality, he can pretend things aren’t more than a few paces to the left of normal. He scrambles to his feet, wrestling with the button on his jeans and I settle back to watch the show as he walks backwards and reaches the dubious sanctuary of the other mattress. He’s watching me warily as he tries to cover up, which is a shame as I really liked the view the way it was. He’s got one arm tangled in the sleeve of one of his less savoury shirts now as he struggles to gather up his stuff one handed, and I count off my fingers, ‘til it really hits.

“I stayed last night didn’t I? Why the hell would I stay here?” He looks genuinely confused. Think the opium’s had a bit of an effect on his memory. Must take a note of that. “And the boxing lesson, that was real?” He’s looking at bruised knuckles and he knows the answer to that and every other question buzzing through his head. “Spike? Umm, were you smoking something? Other than your cigarettes I mean. More to the point, did I smoke something? And I don’t know why I’m actually asking these questions. I didn’t imagine them, did I?”

“Don’t suppose you did, pet. Not if you remember them so clearly.”

“I don’t remember them clearly, but I do remember them. My brain’s sort of fuzzy, but I remember stuff – colours and tastes, shapes and feelings. Sensations. Remember you touching me.” He’s looking at his feet like he just wants the ground to swallow him up, and being on the Hellmouth just about anything is possible.

“Did you enjoy it?” Probably a light blue touch paper type of question, but I’ve got this strange urge to really know.

“Did I enjoy it?” He’s finally got his arms through the shirt sleeves and he’s staring at me now, arms tight round his waist like he’s trying to hold in an answer he doesn’t want to face.

“Think you did at that, pet. Think you enjoyed all our time together.” He really does blush a beautiful shade of red and his blood just sings to me. He’s pacing back and forth, struggling to fasten the buttons on his shirt, co-ordination all gone to hell in his confusion and panic. Stopped now, fingers restless, rubbing unconsciously through shaggy hair, and then lingering over the reminders on his neck. Pause, click, light bulb as he puts the chain of events together in his head.

“Faith tried to kill me and one undead guy staged a rescue and then I get stalked by another undead guy and I finished up spilling my guts, not literally, because that would be gross and all too possible in Sunnydale. I remember the punch bag and the smoke and the other stuff.” His voice has disappeared to a whisper and he’s on such a fine edge - doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed, angry or upset. Probably settle for a bit of each.

“Yep, that’s pretty accurate. Bits and pieces in between, but that’s about the size of it.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice is shaking now. “Why the hell did I talk to you? We’re not friends. We don’t even have anything in common. Slayerette – vampire, I mean it’s like the kind of freak show you’d see on something like Blind Date.” Now that’s a surprise. Didn’t expect him to be worried about that bit, but he’s working himself up good and proper.

“For folk with nothing in common we’ve spent an awful lot of time together lately, don’t you think? And you don’t keep postcards from someone you don’t like. Anyway, don’t really have to be best friends, pet. Don’t even have to like each other that much. It’s the connection that counts, and we’ve got one.” There’s a look of such pain on his face and I get the feeling I’ve just put my foot in it.

“Connection, yeah right. That worked so well for me last time.” His fingers are back at his throat and I curse my own stupidity. He’s all hunched up now, anger and hurt pulsing through every muscle. “I just like looking at the pictures, it doesn’t mean anything.” Right, just keep on telling yourself that.

“This isn’t about the past, pet. It’s about now. And as to why you talked to me, why you’re still here? That’s easy. Because I’m not them. Not your little band of shiny perky people. You don’t have to make a joke, if you don’t want to. Don’t have to act dumb because it’s expected. Don’t have to hide, in case someone sees you. I might not be your friend, but I’m not your judge either. And I don’t drink coffee, not even with extra sprinkles.” He’s pacing again, skirting closer and closer to the door, but always moving back, like he needs the confrontation. That’s just fine with me, and I think I need to open things up a bit. It’s a risk, like pulling off a Band Aid, but if he’s going to trust me, it’s going to have to be done. “I’m not trying to take you away from them. Not trying to corrupt you. Not trying to make you do anything you don’t want to do.“ He’s looking dubious and I suppose he’s got a point. “Okay, the first two are crap, but not the last one. Trust me, pet. I won’t lie to you, not when it’s important.” He’s back over by the punch bag, fingers worrying the leather.

“Why’d you do it Spike? Why did you get me stoned? You’re just like Faith. Want, take, have, use, abuse, discard. You like these bruises, I can tell. Were you tempted to make some of your own?”

I bite back the obvious reply and take an unnecessary breath. Right then, I think it’s time for a few home truths. “I didn’t force you to come back here. Didn’t force you to stay this morning. Didn’t force you to smoke the dope. It’s about choice, pet, and those were your choices.” He’s look mutinous, but knows damn fine that he can’t actually argue - even if I did make his choices pretty damn narrow. He’s such a child sometimes. Got his back turned, refusing to look at me and hanging on to the bag like it’s the only thing stopping his world flying apart. Time for another round. “Did I fuck you? Did I get you to suck me off? Did I give you bad shit? Think about what I could have done. What I didn’t do. Think about that.”

“And that’s your logic? Your justification?” He’s stepped back from the bag, listening to me with mouth wide open and then he’s back, punching as he works my words through in his head. “Right, stupid me” Right hand. “I’m supposed to be grateful that you didn’t do anything really bad.” Left hand. “Like make me crawl. Make me beg. Make me perform like your little pet dog.” Left, right. “Supposed to think that makes you one of the good guys.” Knock out.

He needs to learn I don’t go down that easy. “Never going to be one of the good guys, pet. Pure demon here. Make you crawl, make you beg – I want all of those things. Want you on your knees looking so damn beautiful. Want to push you so far you’re on another planet. Want to teach you, love.”

“Why?” It’s so soft and all the questions in his universe are rolled into one simple word.

Why? That’s the big question. Difficult to answer when I’m not that sure myself, but this isn’t the time for half measures. He’s ready to bolt, but part of him just aches for something so intangible he’d struggle to put a name to it. I start to move towards him and he backs up slowly, his eyes fixed on my face, like he can pull the answer straight out of my head. “Because I can. Because no one else will. Because it will help keep you safe. Because you need it. Because I want to. I’m asking you to trust me and you’ve got no reason to, but I can show you things you’ll never get from your little gang. How to fight. How to survive. How to live.” I feel like a conjuror I once saw at the theatre when I was young – blinding him with smoke and mirrors. Truth and deception, trust and corruption all in one tangled coil. Who knows where one starts and the other one ends. “Not going to hurt you - not unless you want me to. Just let me show you, pet. Let me take control. I’ll teach you how to take it back.” I can see it in his face, he wants to believe so badly, but the Slayer’s marks have taught him well.

“What do you get out of this?”

“Simple. I get you. For a little while, anyways. Is it such a bad deal?” He’s chewing on his bottom lip and I can think of a 1001 things he could do with those teeth. The wheels are turning - one little cog at a time.

“Deal? Okay, here’s the deal. Boxing lessons, that’s what I signed up for. Teaching me to fight, to help defend the Hellmouth. As for anything else, I don’t know. Opium smoking - not on the current curriculum and the sex stuff? Well lets just suck it and see.” Oh that really is a lovely shade of scarlet. “And I really didn’t actually say that did I?”

“Freudian slip, love. Not everything on my shopping list, but as you say, let’s just suck it and see.” I’m actually surprised we made it this far without him trying to stake me. “You know you’re always surprising me, pet. One of the first things that made me really look at you – seeing you and the witch together, rubbing and scratching. It really was a sight in itself. But you didn’t roll over. Didn’t give in to her. You interested me and you keep on doing it. Why do you think I sent you the postcards?”

“Because you were a sad, lonely excuse for a vampire who’d just lost the love of his life to a slimy demon and you didn’t have any friends?”

“Cheeky brat. I’ve got friends. Just no-one I really wanted to talk to. But you were something different and I wanted your interest. And you know it isn’t really good manners to taunt the evil demon on his own turf, pet. It’s not exactly a life plan. But you do it anyway and that’s what got me curious. Not knowing what you’re going to do next. Thought you’d be all freaking with the jerk off and the, ‘oh my god, does this mean I’m gay now’, but not you. Not a peep in that direction.” He’s laughing at me now and I’m not sure I get the joke.

“Spike? Newsflash. The gay thing - really no big deal. I’ve known for quite a while that I like boys as much as girls. Hell, I’m eighteen. I’ll pretty much look at anyone with a nicely shaped ass. I even thought Angel was kind of buff when I first saw him. Okay, in a brooding, cavemany type way, and if you repeat that to anyone living or dead I will stake you myself. I like girls a lot, and yes I lost my virginity to Faith, but the boy thing? It’s just a case of not having the opportunity, because I so don’t count Larry, but the inclination is definitely there. So to get to my original rant at you. It’s not that you were a man, demon, whatever. You just didn’t ask. I’m not a blow up doll. Not for Faith. And not for you.”

And I thought I was going to corrupt the little hetro white hat. Still there are lots of other forms of corruption. “Didn’t ask because I didn’t know, but you didn’t seem to object at the time. “

“Yep, again with the, ’I’m eighteen’ thing and stoned out of my mind and you were doing interesting things with your hand. Of course I didn’t object at the time.” I can almost see the cartoon ‘Duh!’ above his head.

“Suppose I should have known asking permission was in the white hat code.” He’s pacing again, back to looking pissed off and I don’t know what the hell I’ve done this time.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that. You make it sound so, so…..boring. I’ve got background you know. I’ve got layers.”

“Sure love, bet you’ve got a police record a mile long – a regular Al Capone, wanted in three States.”

“And now with the mocking. I’ve done my share of stuff. Okay, not up there in the history books with slaughtering half of Europe, but I’m no choir boy.” I’ve got this sudden vision of him in church wearing one of those little neck ruffs and nothing else. Bet I could make him hit some high notes. He’s still talking and I drag myself back and look suitably interested. “I painted all the fences in Cordelia’s street cat sick green one night. Some people have no sense of humour, that’s all I can say. Couldn’t get the paint from under my fingernails for days afterwards. And I went through a phase of taking stuff from the local 7/11. Jesse and I used to go out to the woods and we’d have to take something to eat, so I’d take Twinkies and HoHo’s. Always wanted to take chips, but they kind of make a crunching sound when they’re hidden under your tee-shirt.”

“Bad to the bone you are, pet. Bisexual, opium smoking kleptomaniac – and I thought I could corrupt you. Just knew you had a secret identity under all that do-gooding.” There’s eye-rolling now, but that’s just fine. The tension in the air’s faded, just like the opium smoke. I think this might just work.

“Spike, I really do need to go. I’ve been out of circulation all day and there’s bound to be explanations and Willow face and I’d better get it over with. And I really need to change first. If I go in through the basement I can avoid the parents, at least ‘til the bruises fade a bit. Anyway, it’s amazing how you can get hurt in gym class.” That’s my boy, and I add accomplished liar to his list of vices. He’s definitely coming on nicely and I can’t help grinning. He’s moving back towards the door and then hesitates, like he’s searching for reassurance. “So boxing lesson, tomorrow? I’m not sure what time I’ll get here, what with Scooby meetings and patrol and stuff.”

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll be here. Look forward to it.”

“Just a boxing lesson.” Again with the little hesitation. That’s interesting.

“Of course, pet. Nothing like a bit of sparring to get all sweaty and get the blood pumping.”

“Spike!” One last glance and he’s gone.

I watch him go and move over to the bag, running my hands over the leather thoughtfully. Boxing lessons it is, then. Got a few rounds left in this game yet.


	9. Perceptions 8: Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike thinks and Xander panics.

_**Perceptions 8: Reflections**_  
Warnings – Mention of naughty male touching and drug use  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/). Thank you love, for the super quick turn around.

There are times when I love being a vampire and times when I wish I’d never set eyes on Drusilla. This would be one of those funny, in between occasions, when I wish there was a middle ground – somewhere the man and the demon could meet and call a truce. That boy, he’s getting so far under my skin that I can’t even see straight anymore. Although that could be the bottle of Jack I had after he left. Sometimes I want to stop the poncing around and just take him so hard that he’ll never be able to walk away from me again, and then other times I just want him to come to me of his own free will and stay because it’s what he wants to do. I told him it was about the choices he made, and I’m not used to giving people choices. I can’t believe he’s been running with the Slayer for nearly 3 years and he still willingly made himself so damn vulnerable, staying here with me. I know things aren’t peaches and cream in WhiteHatsville, but if staying with a vamp with a reputation for death and destruction is really a better option than being with your friends, then things are way beyond serious.

He’s probably at the school library by now. He’s had plenty of time to go home, get showered, and I just bet that was all kinds of interesting. He’s probably got changed and put on another one of those god awful shirts he wears. I don’t understand why they can’t see it’s just a costume. They have no idea what the person underneath is really like these days. I bet he’s getting the inquisition from them about now. _Oh Xander, where have you been? Oh Xander, we’ve been so worried. Oh Xander, I’ve written down your homework for you. Oh Xander, once it gets dark, can you go out on your own and pick us all up some coffee and doughnuts, while we work out how to save the world._ Stupid hypocritical gits. They get on my nerves, the whole lot of them. Heard the girlies talking about their test scores and their college applications and the Slayer was moaning about her lack of options. Bullshit! She should try looking through the boy’s eyes for once. He’s not saying anything, but any fool can see he’s terrified of the future. Of life without his little gang and what’s going to happen when he’s Mr Left Behind. I wonder if that’s why he talks to me. Why he’s constantly courting the edge of danger. Does he want to just finish it, rather than slide into the kind of mediocrity he’s been dragged up in? Bet he can just feel it grasping at his ankles, pulling him slowly down, joke by stupid joke.

It’s funny, thinking about him growing up. I wonder what would have happened if I’d met him sooner. I can’t even imagine being his age anymore. Just because the packaging doesn’t change doesn’t mean I don’t feel my age. Although I think I might just have done more growing up in the last couple of months than I’ve done in the last 50 years. I wonder what William would have made of him? They wouldn’t have been friends; that’s for sure. The boy would probably have been one of the servant class and the stuck up, prissy poet wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to one of the great unwashed. I can just imagine William writing sonnets to those big brown eyes and then repressing every nasty, wrong feeling those eyes had ever conjured up. Good job I’m not William, ‘cause I want to do more than write poetry.  
.

When I first came across him he was a mouthy little git and he still is. It was fun to rile him, taunt him about his fragile place in his little gang, and then he started to taunt back and he wasn’t scared. No, actually he was terrified, but it didn’t stop him. I just started to look forward to our encounters. Spats with a little bit of an extra frisson. Just enough to make the nerve endings crackle and pop. When I think about it, my postcards were a modern version of William’s poetry. Love notes by another name. Strange, I didn’t think about it like that at the time. Like I told him, I wanted his interest, but I didn’t know why. He just kind of snuck up on me. And he was right, I didn’t have anyone else to send them to, but I’m not admitting that to him. His face and his voice just stuck in my head and I thought it would be a good mindfuck. I never expected him to keep the cards and that he wouldn’t tell anyone about them. That one knows a thing or two about keeping secrets and that’s exactly what I’m counting on.

I wish it would hurry up and get dark. That’s the thing that really pisses me off, more than anything else, about being a vamp – restricted movement during the day, because contrary to popular belief, the sewers will only get you so far and I really don’t like getting my docs mucky. You’d think someone on the bleedin’ Hellmouth would sell a decent, demon friendly, sun block. Factor 340 or something? I’ll never understand why the hell they had to put demon central smack in the middle of the perma-tans and the surfboard brigade anyway. Shit, still two hours ‘til the sun goes down. God knows what kind of trouble he’s getting into while I’m not around. Better have another drink and plan the next round of ‘physical education’.

**********

Okay. Right. Managed to fly under the parent’s radar and get in and out of the house unseen. So, stage one accomplished. Stage 2 – piece of cake. I’ll just walk over to the school, amble into the library and it’ll all be fine. There’s no evidence of illegal substances. No evidence of naughty touching. Okay, some evidence of naughty touching, but only of the Faith variety and they know about that, so that’s fine. No need for them to know about the other stuff. No one’s business but mine.

  
Good strategic planning, stopping off at the coffee shop – marshalling the caffeine and sugary goodness as part of a pre-emptive strike. It’s all part of the battle plan, knowing when to circle the wagons and when to launch the first attack and cut the questions off at the pass. I just bet John Wayne wasn’t scared of a pack of girls – even if his name was Marion. I wonder if that’s why Spike changed his name. Don’t suppose there are many openings for psychotic serial killing demons called William. It just sounds a bit formal, when you’re strangling someone with their own entrails. Spike’s got a bit of a ring to it. It kind of sums up the character – sharp, pointed, lethal. So why the hell do I feel so comfortable around him? I’m not as dumb as I look, I know he’s no philanthropist, and oh look, a Giles word. Spike never does anything without getting some payback. I know that we’ve agreed on the boxing lessons, on him teaching me to fight, and I really want to do that. But I also know it’s not going to stop there. It’s going to come with a price tag and I think part of me is just a little bit terrified that I just might be willing to pay whatever he asks.

He was right about my choices; I just didn’t want to admit it. I could have gone home, but I didn’t. I didn’t have to smoke the opium. Okay, I didn’t know it was opium, but that’s just splitting hairs. And when he touched me, I felt more alive than I’ve felt in so long. He was so focused. Hands and fingers and voice, just on me. The other thing that scares me is that it might have happened, even without the drugs.

I wasn’t joking when I said I liked boys, although the look on his face was priceless. The first time I got a hard on in the school showers I panicked and buried myself in the skin mags I pinched from dear old Dad. Father and son finding common ground over some stuck together bits of paper – it’s kind of touching really. But the last few months I’ve stopped fighting it. Doesn’t mean I don’t like girls, because god knows, there’s a lot to like. But sometimes I’ll watch some guy during gym, or at the mall, or just walking down the street and I can just feel something in my gut, like I’ve been punched and it goes straight down south.

Spike just confuses the hell out of me. He’s hot and sexy and funny and he’s seen so much. He says that he sees me, and it makes my head spin. Then he’ll remind me he’s a demon and I feel like I should run screaming, but I don’t. I still don’t understand why I can talk to him. It can’t be as simple as he says – that he’s not one of the gang. I could try to talk to them I suppose, but I’ve no idea what I would say.

Shit, I can’t be at the library already. I’m sure the distance was way longer the last time I did a coffee run. Maybe it’s some freaky, Hellmouth, distance anomaly thingy. Maybe we should investigate, rally the troops and break out the musty tomes. And maybe I’m standing wittering to myself instead of getting this over with.

There they are. My fearless gang. My friends. Funny, seeing them through these little bits of glass in the doors makes them seem so distant – like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Giles with his head in a book, one hand groping absently for his tea. Willow on the computer, so concentrated on finding the answer to whatever bad they’re researching. And Oz, stroking the back of her neck gently as he points something out to her on the screen. I’m glad they worked it out. He makes Willow happy and that’s something I could never have done. Buffy’s not research girl, but polishing medieval weaponry brings its own reward. I know she worries about us. About us getting hurt, getting killed. Maybe if I can learn some moves off Spike I’ll be able to help her more and give her one less thing to stress about.

These are my friends and I love them and I’m not going to lie to them. I’m just not going to tell them the whole truth. So, no mention of sleepovers with the hot vampire. No mention of boxing lessons with the hot vampire. And definitely no mention of drugs and groping with the hot vampire. No mention of the hot vampire, period. Okay, I can do that.

Maybe I should have got chocolate, as well as the doughnuts!


	10. Perceptions 9: Secrets, Lies and Deals with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander catches up with the gang and Spike thinks about the past and plans for the future.

_**Perceptions 9: Secrets, Lies and Deals with the Devil**_  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/).

Thank Christ it’s finally dark enough to be out and about. I swear if I had to spend another minute waiting for the sun to set, I’d probably have cracked open my emergency stash of Jack. Never would have thought I’d be grateful to the great broody one, but if he hadn’t been on the Hellmouth last year I’d never have come here with Dru. Even with all the shit that happened it did mean I got a little bit of local knowledge – like how to get from ‘a’ to ‘b’ with least hassle and little chance of running in the Slayer or anybody I owe money to. Mind you, I’m beginning to think if I wasn’t a vamp already, that I had some kind of death wish because right now, instead of avoiding the little bunch of do-gooders, I’m heading right for Slayer Central. Just glad I discovered that handy little back entrance on St Vigeous Night. That really was a right bit of fun, even if it didn’t go quite according to plan. Got my first sight of my boy, so that’s got to be worth something, but there really ought to be a law somewhere banning parents from carrying dangerous sharp objects about.

Okay, here we are. Ground zero. God, it’s musty back here. Full of old tomes that haven’t seen the light of day since the apocalypse before last. There’s just a faint smell of tobacco and malt. I bet this is where the Watcher comes to have a sly fag and a snifter, when it all gets too much with the teenage scream squad. Naughty boy, I’m sure that’s not in the Council’s manual. Just a soft murmur of voices and thank god the Slayer’s whining is muffled by the stacks of leather bound volumes. I knew there was a reason the Watcher chose the library as his base of operations. He can always go and shelve some books and shut off the latest kiddie chatter. He’s smarter than I thought. I wonder what else he gets up to back here?

I ease just a little bit closer, still keeping well out of sight but near enough to pick out the voices, just catching snippets of conversation.

“What do you mean there’s no more cream filled….” “Please try not to get jelly on the crossbow…” “No it’s fine, honestly. Doesn’t hurt hardly at all….” “Do you think I should colour my hair…what?” “…another apocalypse sometime in the next week.” “…just overslept, no big. Just didn’t want to run into Snyder.”

There he is. That’s my boy, obfuscating like a professional. Doesn’t really need any training in that area. Which means I’ve got more time to concentrate on developing his other talents. Now let’s just slide over a few of the books and get a proper look at the action. There they are, the crack team that have defended the Hellmouth from all comers for nearly three years. There’s her blondeness, painting her fingernails and dripping polish on some priceless text. The little witch looks like she’s engrossed in what her wolf is saying, but I can see her eyes slide over and linger on my boy. She looks two parts worried to one part frustrated, like she knows he’s keeping secrets from her, but just can’t work out what they could possibly be. She should keep her bloody nose out of his business, before the wolf misinterprets concern for something else. Tweedman is sipping his tea and picking absently at a stray bit of doughnut, while he mutters something about the latest Codex. The prom queen is noticeably absent and there’s no sign of the little windbag Watcherbot and his skanky Slayer. I really am going to have to have a serious talk with that one about hurting my boy. And there he is, wedged in between the table end and the filing cabinets. He’s got that goofy, ‘don’t expect anything intelligent from me’ face on and I think I’m the only one who isn’t fooled. He’s got sugar on his top lip and just as I start to fantasise about licking it off, he starts to suck the remains of some escaped cream off the end of his thumb. Christ, the things I could teach him to do with that tongue. Now that’s interesting, I can see the Watcher glancing at him as well, then making a big production out of stirring his tea. Just a little morsel to store away for another time and definitely another reason to make sure the boy is well and truly schooled before he gets another offer.

The Slayer’s talking again, pulling me out of my musings and I realise she’s bringing the boy up to date. Can never get enough intel, so I force myself to listen. “So the Council took Faith off of Angel, but she escaped and I caught up with her at the docks. We were attacked by a pile of vamps and Faith saved my life. That’s about it really, just another standard night in the wackiness that is my life. It did make me think though, Faith helping me at the end, I mean. Maybe you had a point Xan. Maybe people do deserve another chance.”

He reaches across to take her hand, bridging the gap and the misunderstandings between them when the Redhead snorts disdainfully, and the moment passes. “Oh yeah, right. She does one good deed, which is her job by the way, and we’re supposed to just forgive and forget. Faith’s dangerous and don’t forget she hurt Xander. She’s only out for what she can get and she’s only got one person’s interests in mind – her own.” Talk about pots and kettles; she really does need to look at herself in the mirror. Doesn’t matter that I actually agree with her. That’s not the point. And she’s off again, and oh bollocks, this time her attention is right on my boy. “So, you were telling us what happened to you today Xan. We were worried. You missed school and you didn’t answer when I called you at home. After the stuff with Faith, I didn’t know what think.”

I can see him fighting with himself not to shrink inwards with every expression of concern and unspoken accusation. “Will, I told you, nothing happened. There is nothing to worry about. I left you last night. I went for a walk to clear my head, and before you yell, I took every precaution. I have managed to survive 18 years on the Hellmouth you know. And you wouldn’t have got me on the phone; I didn’t sleep in my room last night. I didn’t want to disturb my folks and have them ask difficult questions. I know I skipped school but I just couldn’t face it – people seeing the bruises and speculating. I really didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.” Good boy, nothing exactly untrue. Just shuffled around a bit and an awful lot of unspoken gaps. But then a gap only exists if you know it’s there. Reminds me of that Schrödinger bloke, wittering on about his boxes and cats. Dru had a thing about him and I think that’s where the whole kitten fixation started.

Looks like the boy’s storytelling has done the trick. It’s amazing how a quick rearrangement of the facts and a bit of sugar can divert the biggest crisis, even on the Hellmouth. I settle down to watch him and tune out the rest of the chatter. The witch is obviously a little unsure and he’s joking and clowning with her ‘til she settles and starts to smile back. Then he moves onto the Slayer, commenting on her nail colour and the latest shade of demon goo. Even the Watcher chips in his tuppence worth and I can feel the tension in the air lifting second by second. This is his talent, his contribution to the group and it’s so effortless that they’ll never ever notice the joins. I watch him working his magic and just for a moment I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t come back from South America. Would he even have realised how restless he was, if I hadn’t prodded him ‘til he couldn’t help but open his eyes. I listen to him chatter and weave his spell and my mind drifts back to other voices and different dark eyes.

Drusilla. She was my love, my reason to exist and my life. But the stars spoke to her, whispering in her ear and she followed their dance wherever they directed. She loved me, but she always left. Always wanted to see the bright and shiny over the next horizon and the next rainbow. She would come back and tell me of the wonders she’d seen and I can see her now, skin white as alabaster, sitting astride my thighs, crooning about the night and the light and the heroes of the future and the past. I was her once and future prince, her heart for yesterday and tomorrow, but never for today. Today she needed strength not devotion. A warrior not a protector. She whispered about the underbellies of dragons and Achilles heels. My need to love, to protect, to focus on someone was my flaw, my Hamartia she called it. My weakness and my brand and in the end she would have none of it. She wanted Daddy and a thousand substitutes and I could never compete, although I tried. I tempered my weapons and gathered my defences and hardened my heart and I changed to please her. But it was never enough. And now standing in the shadows, hiding from children and staring at another dark haired fascination, I realise that I’ve haven’t changed at all.

There’s a shout of raucous laughter and I give myself a mental shake, clearing out the cobwebs and the voices from the past. The Watcher’s looking round the table, an army of shadow librarians gathered at his shoulder, tutting at the display of exuberance, but I can see the edges of his mouth twitching, reinforcing the previous impression of hidden depths. “Right, now that everyone is up to date with the latest school gossip, if we could turn our attention to the latest issue of concern: the Mayor. I appreciate that we have limited knowledge of his plans and even of the nature of his relationship with the demonic side of his constituency. However, the extent of his influence is certainly of concern and we need to discover a great deal more about his background and his future intentions. Xander, as you are nearest, can you check through the index cards for volumes on Sunnydale’s political history and campaigns, and see if we have any texts to hand which may be of help.”

“Sure thing Giles, consider it done. See I have uses above and beyond the bringing of coffee and doughnuts.” He sketches a quick salute, grins and winks at the girls, and starts to work methodically through the files, laying aside a small card from time to time. He’s standing sideways so that he can still hear the Watcher pontificating on the possible dangers of evil politicians and I can see the boy biting his lip to avoid coming out with the obvious jokes. Tweedy makes the situation sound serious and the gang look suitably attentive and concerned. “Giles, I’ve got a couple of possibles. Want me to go digging in amongst the dust bunnies to see what I can find?”

The Watcher looks almost approving as he looks up from his papers. “If you wouldn’t mind Xander, that would be most helpful. The sooner we do the research, and find out who or what we’re dealing with, the better. I must admit, I’m extremely uneasy about this development.” My boy squeezes past the back of the witch and the Slayer and moves off into the stacks, slips in hand. It’s all I can do to move back, before he falls over me.

He’s down on his knees, fingers running along the spines of books that look like they haven’t been moved in 20 years. He looks good like that and I promise myself that this time round, things will be on my terms. I don’t have to change and for once someone is going to dance to my tune. I groan at the thought of him on his knees in front of me, peering up with those big eyes, just waiting for his next lesson. And shit, I must have done that out loud, ‘cause he’s up on his feet, looking around cautiously, one hand gripped tight around some yellowing volume, the other pulling a stake from his back pocket. He moves forward, peering into the half darkness and I don’t know whether to applaud his bravery, or kick him up the arse for stupidity and recklessness. Right then, time for a little word. I move out of the shadows, just as he turns the corner of the stack and he just about jumps out of his skin.

“Spike! Jesus, you took about 10 years off my life there. What the hell are you doing here? You don’t want Buffy finding you, do you?”

It’s sort of nice that he’s worried about me. He’s obviously not told the gang that I’m back in Sunnydale. “Don’t give the Slayer much thought, pet. If she runs into me, she’ll know about it, but I’m not looking to take my third scalp just yet. I just wanted to check you got here in one piece. Lots of nasties out there, just waiting to grab a tasty little snack. Didn’t want you getting eaten before we’d had a chance to go another few rounds.” He’s looking flustered and I take the stake off him, before he does himself an injury. He’s so damn easy to wind up. “Boxing, pet. Remember we have a date for some lessons?”

“Spike, about the boxing lessons. Umm, I’m not going to be able to make it for a couple of days. It’s just that, with all the stuff going on at the moment, with the Mayor being a bad guy and all, I just need to be around. To do what I can to help, you understand?” He’s got his free hand jammed so far into the pocket of his trousers, that I almost expect it to come out somewhere near his ankles and there’s anxiety oozing out of every pore. He knows damn fine I’m not going to be happy, but he’s got his chin up, looking me in the eye and begging me to understand. And I do, but I don’t see why I should make it easy for him, for all that.

“What I understand pet, is that you seem to have a pretty loose concept of loyalty. Thought we had an agreement. You made all the pretty speeches about wanting to learn to fight, but seems your promises only work when they don’t conflict with your other commitments. Seems to me that I was willing to give up my time to teach you something and you were all kinds of enthusiastic, but then the Slayer yanks on your chain and you trot back to your kennel like a good little puppy.” I know that had to hurt, but he needs to know that his actions have consequences and that I’m not to be fucked around. Definitely hit a tender spot there because he’s just staring at me, hurt and anger in his eyes. This one will never make a poker player.

“I can’t win, can I?” I can see his knuckles whiten as he grips the book hard, like he wants to throw it at me. “It’s Catch 22. I need to help Buffy face up to whatever the Hellmouth’s going to throw up next, but I know I don’t have the fighting skills to really make a difference. That’s why I want you to teach me. But I need to learn now and I need to help Buffy now and I’ll probably finish up not doing either of them right and just upsetting everyone.” He’s looking back nervously through the stacks like he’s afraid someone will come looking for him, but they’re too engrossed in their own discussions to notice how long he’s taking.

“It’s a tough call pet, but only you can make it. In the end it’s not about disappointing or upsetting folk. This is about keeping your word. We had a deal, pet.” Now that’s a winning hand if I ever had one and I look him square in the face, holding his gaze and just daring him to argue.

“Please, don’t look at me like that.” He rubs absently over the fading bruises on his neck and then finally drops his eyes to somewhere near my right boot. He’s almost whispering now, his voice soft and so tired. “Okay, look at me like that. You’re right, we had a deal and you know I want to learn how to fight and I want to learn from you. I enjoyed the lesson this morning.” I wonder if he realises that he’s blushing and I’m kind of shocked to realise that it really was just this morning. “You’re a good teacher and I actually understood what you were trying to show me. Don’t suppose you do trig tutoring as well?” He glances up at me with uncertain eyes, desperate to defuse the situation with his usual joke, and I’m almost tempted to take the bait. Almost.

  
“Okay. So, let’s just say that I’m understanding. It seems to me that there’s a bit of negotiation left to do before we’re back on an even keel again. If you remember I was willing to play the game your way. Give up my shopping list for now and give you your lessons so you could help the Slayer. Since it was your game and you’re the one backing out it seems only fair that you should pay a forfeit.” He’s watching me warily now, unable to argue with the logic but as his worried expression fades towards resignation, it’s like he knows he’s looking into the eyes of the snake and that this time there’s no escape route. I have no idea what number plan I’m on now, but who gives a shit, because this time I really do have him. “You were due to come to me tomorrow for another lesson. Looks like that’s not going to happen. So you go and help your little gang and make the Hellmouth safe for the grateful citizens of this misbegotten hole. You’ve survived this long; one more crisis isn’t going to make a difference so long as you don’t do anything stupid.” Damn right he won’t do anything stupid! “But for every day you miss a lesson there will be a price to pay. Alternatively you can run back to the Slayer and the Watcher and ask them to teach you. I’m sure they’ll wonder why the thought hadn’t occurred to them before.” There’s a look of such hurt on his face and the little piece of conscience in the corner of my gut twists in sympathy, but there’ll be time for that later once he knows the ground rules.

“Do I have a choice?” I expected pleading, or even a few tears, so his rueful tone is just a bit of a surprise, but I should really know better by now. I’ve realised that he knows exactly where this dance is going, and how it’s going to end, and I kind of think part of him enjoys the convoluted path we’re taking.

“Course you do, pet. Remember, it’s all about your choice. It may be a cliché, but it’s true that nothing really comes for free, it’s just a matter of what you’re willing to pay.”

“And the price?”

“Depends, love. On how much you really want to learn? How much you really want to help? Who knows what kind of a day I’ll have had, by the time you’ve finally saved the world and get around to coming to see me. But it won’t be more than you can give. Told you I wouldn’t hurt you, not unless you want me to. Told you I wouldn’t lie about the important stuff.” I can almost see the want warring with his common sense, and all the questions screaming in his head. Can he trust me? What if the gang find out? What happens if he says no? Who in their right mind would agree to pay forfeit to a demon, with no idea of the cost? His hand creeps back to his neck, scratching unconsciously at the evidence of the last time he let his emotions rule his head and for a moment I think he’s going to walk away.

“Okay, you win. Your deal, your rules, my forfeit.” He looks up from his feet and I’m proud of the resolution in his face. “I’d better get back. Even I can’t get lost in the stacks for more than half an hour. Hopefully this will all blow over quick enough and I’ll be back in a couple of days.” One last brief uncertain smile and he’s gone.

“Don’t worry love, you take all the time you need. The longer the better, as far as I’m concerned.”


	11. Perceptions 10: Forfeits, Friendships and other words beginning with 'F'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike reminds Xander that nothing comes for free.

_**Perceptions 10: Forfeits, Friendships and other words beginning with 'F'**_  
Warnings:Boy groping and drug use  
Beta extraordinaire:[](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[ **thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/).

Three soddin’ days. He’s been out there, waltzing about with his little do-good chums getting into god knows what kind of trouble. I’ve been following him whenever I can, discreetly of course. The boy’s a walking invitation for every nasty on the Hellmouth. He might as well just hang a sign round his neck advertising himself as tonight’s special. I couldn’t get to him last night, and it bothers me more than I’d like. I’d heard a rumour at Willy’s and needed to follow it up. Seemed that the slimy little shit of a money lender I had dealings with a couple of months back was looking for me. He’d been spreading nasty tales about me not covering off all my debts. Little creep; I had to go and put him straight. I wasn’t going to have some greasy little demon slander my good name. And it’s kind of difficult to spread poisonous lies with no tongue.

If the boy doesn’t appear tonight, I’m going to go and track him down and bring him back here. By the hair if necessary. I know I told him he could go and be a white hat and take all the time he needed, but this hanging around is really getting on my nerves. It’s enough to drive a man to drink. I’m just glad I already smoke because this waiting lark would definitely have got me started. And I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to myself. I really need a good shag and a decent kill. Preferably both.

Now that’s an interesting sound. Cautious footsteps and a heart going nineteen to the dozen. Definitely music to my ears. Here kitty, kitty.

“Spike?” His voice is strained and tentative; like he’s not very sure he actually wants a reply. “Spike, you here?” I can see sneakered feet coming down the basement steps, then the bottom of faded jeans. Now he’s paused, giving a perfect framing at crotch level through the filthy glass at the top of the door. Now that’s a very pretty sight. He’s all the way down now. Still cautious and I retreat further into the warehouse, forcing him through the door, drawing him deeper into the inner basement. “Spike, if you’re there can you, like, say something. This silence is kind of creepy and if you do the ‘lighting a match for your cigarette and appearing out of the shadows’ shtick I’ll know you’ve been watching too many 40’s movies. And don’t tell me Harry Lime was modelled on you because I won’t believe you. And I should probably stop talking now because you’re obviously not here, and talking to yourself in dingy warehouses is so last apocalypse.”

I think I’ve left him hanging long enough and I can’t resist lighting a match, just for the hell of it.

“Spike? Shit, very funny. Should have known you couldn’t resist an invitation like that.” He’s standing half in the shadows, but I can still tell he’s glaring in my direction.

“What can I say, pet? You’d have made a great straight man, feeding me a line like that.” Although maybe not so straight these days. “Seemed kind of impolite not to pick up on it. And you’re right, I remember meeting Orson at a party years ago. Interesting bloke, had real vision. Of course that was before he got fat and started doing the sherry ads.” I can tell from the noises he’s making that he’s completely lost, but that’s okay, it’s fun to keep him just a little off balance. And he doesn’t need to know I make most of this shite up anyway. I move towards him casually, taking a long draw on my fag and blowing the smoke his way. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods? Evil vanquished is it? Everything safe for good little boys and girls to be tucked up on bed without having nightmares? Didn’t take as long as I thought. That Mayor bloke was obviously all campaign promises and no delivery.”

“Oh, the Mayor is the real deal all right, and it’s way more serious than we thought. Spike, I need the lessons now. He’s going to hit us at Graduation. I need you to help me get ready. Please.”

It’s the please that does it and I’m just about to reply when he steps forward, fully out of the shadows. He’s got a bruise covering half his face and it’s already turning all sorts of pretty colours. He can see me staring and instinctively moves back towards the cover of darkness.

“What the hell is that? Can’t let you out of my sight without getting some bruise or other. What happened? Who the hell did that?” I can feel myself shifting as I stare at the bruise and it just makes him move back further.

“Angel did it.” He’s hardly audible, and I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.

“Peaches did that! He gone all happy again or what?” Wait ‘til I get my hands on him, he’s going to take a very long sunbathe.

“No, it was a plan. Buffy realised that Faith’s been working with the Mayor and his cronies. Faith tried to recruit Angelus to get to Buffy and they pretended to go along with the plan. It was just a deception to get information from Faith.” He’s stuttering a bit, stumbling over his words, as much with embarrassment about the stupidly of the plan, as the fact that I’m still in game face.

“Still not seeing where this leads to you getting your face bashed in.” He’s squirming now and I just know I’m not going to like his answers.

“You see, I ran into Angel with Faith. He was pretending to be Angelus. So he hit me as a way of convincing her. It’s what Angelus would have done.” I hate to tell him what Angelus would really have done, but he’s talking again, so I leave that for another time. “I didn’t know about the plan, that’s all.” He’s so soft now I have to strain to hear him. “It’s just Hellmouthy stuff, no big.” That’s it; I’ve had it with this shit.

“No big? No fucking big? Like being strangled by a psychotic Slayer is no big? Like having your friends treat you like you don’t have two brain cells to rub together is no big? Christ Xander. Maybe they’re right. Maybe you do need a keeper. Should buy you a bloody collar and lead.”

“Right, stupid Xander. Can’t protect himself. He’s better off out of the firing line. Isn’t that where you came in? “ He looks so damn young. Fierce and hurting and ready to bolt at any minute and I force myself to calm down.

“Xander, love. I know you’ll throw yourself into any fight. That you’d hurt to save your friends. Die to do what you think is right. And that’s fine and honourable and all that other crap. But you need to know what you’re up against. There’s no point in the Generals making plans if they don’t tell the soldiers about it. You’re not cannon fodder. You deserve to know what you might be walking into. That’s not protecting you, or patronising you. That’s giving you the information, so that you can protect yourself and others.” At least he’s stopped backing away and he looks like he really is listening to me. I just hope it’s getting through. “Look, I over reacted when I saw the bruises, but if I run into Peaches or the Slayer, I will tell them exactly what I think about their crackpot plans. I don’t want you getting hurt, pet. Not for a stupid reason like that.”

“Yeah, okay. I get it.” He’s moving back towards me now, but he’s still got his head down like he’s trying to hide the marks.

“Look at me, pet. If you carry on walking like that, you’re going to bash into something and give yourself another great bruise.” He looks up at that and there’s a ghost of a grin on his face, before he looks serious again.

“Spike, I need you to help me learn to fight properly. This thing with the Mayor is going to be bad, and I don’t know if we’re all going to make it.” He looks genuinely worried and I don’t like that. I’m all for teaching him, but there’s one thing that needs to come first.

“Right then, fighting and tactics, we can do that. Always up for a bit of a scrap and I can teach you stuff that the Marquis of Queensberry definitely wouldn’t recognise.” He’s looking hopeful, like someone’s holding a bit of chocolate just out of reach. “But first things first. I think you’re forgetting about our deal. Our other deal. About the forfeits.”

“Forfeits?” That hit a lovely high note and my mind goes happily back to the choir boy scenario. “That’s a plural.” Boy may even pass his English at this rate. “You never said anything about a plural. You talked about a forfeit – singular.” He’s got a real indignant look on his face now, like I’m making all this up. As if.

“Obviously didn’t listen, pet. I said that for every day you miss a lesson, there would be a price to pay. Three days. Three forfeits. You’re actually in the fourth day now, but I’m in a generous mood at the moment, seeing as you’ve been through the mill a bit.”

“But, but….” He’s desperately searching for a rebuttal, but he knows damn fine he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He sees so bloody much, but sometimes he just doesn’t listen. “Okay, fine. You win, again. There’s a surprise. How do we do this? All now, or one at a time, or what?” There’s a real edge to his voice, and any minute now I think he’s going to stamp his foot.

“I think we’ll probably do them all now, but one at a time, if you get my meaning. Come here.” There’s just enough steel in my voice to make him take notice, but it still doesn’t stop him sighing and harrumphing and generally acting out. He’s like an overgrown child, who’s just been caught out and just knows he’s in for a grounding. But then again, he’s only eighteen, so that’s not far off the mark. I just think my grounding will lead to more interesting things than he’ll ever get in school.

“Right then, come a bit closer. I’m not going to bite you.” He looks incredulous and I just grin back. “First forfeit. Don’t worry it’s nothing hard. I’m in cliché mode, so I’ll just settle for a kiss.”

“Kiss?” I didn’t think his voice could go any higher, but he just keeps proving me wrong.

“Just a kiss, that’s all.” For now. “You must see something you like, or you wouldn’t have hung around, don’t you think?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, you’re fine. Um... You’re more than fine. But kissing? I’m not sure. I haven’t had that much practice. Girls or boys. In fact boy-wise, sort of non-existent, and why is my life so surreal that I’m worried about kissing a man, a vampire, when someone’s threatening the end of the world, again. Is it me, or is it the Hellmouth?” I place one hand over his mouth to stem the flow of babble and whisper softly in his ear.

“Got some perks with being a vampire, love. Don’t need to breathe.” Just as he draws breath for a comeback, I slide the other hand round the back of his neck, pulling him in. “No talking, love. Not everything needs words.” I move my hand away from his mouth and watch his reaction. Silence, and he’s just staring at me, wide eyed, biting his lip and I can’t wait any longer. I pull his head down and slide my tongue gently over his bottom lip, just nipping where his teeth had been seconds before. He’s passive, but at least he’s not fighting and I take that as permission to continue. Soft kissing on the edge of his mouth, mapping the texture and the taste, as I move inwards. He’s breathing harder and I push my hand further into his tangled hair and tug gently. There’s a low breathy moan and I take advantage of his opening lips and slide my tongue inside and start to move it slowly. He stills for a moment and then he’s all unexpected movement, Hands curling round my shoulders and slipping slowly down my back ‘til they come to rest at the base of my spine, and then he starts to kiss back. Tongues and lips and teeth and breathless moaning and this is so much better than I could have dreamed. All he needed was the trigger, the excuse, and he must know there’s no going back now. It feels like we’ve been doing this forever but finally he pulls back, gasping for air and I stroke lightly across his bruised jaw, tracing the contours of his face. “Well pet, I think you’ve got hidden talents.” He’s blushing again, and starts to pull back when he realises where his hands are, and I let go of him, reluctantly.

“Wow. If I’d know it was like that, I wouldn’t have waited so long.” He’s looking at me shyly and then away, like he doesn’t know what to do next.

“Not sure if you’d have got the ‘wow factor’ from anyone else, love. Even if I say so myself, I’m a bloody good kisser. “ Never was one for humility and he grins at me in recognition.

“Not arguing. So not arguing. I’m just thinking, anyone else is going to have a lot to live up too.” There’s not going to be anyone else, but no need to have that conversation just yet. Right, we’ve got the first hurdle over with. I think we need a little more atmosphere and I start to light the candles scattered around the room, perched on overturned boxes and stone ledges. Lovely, now we’ve got a little bit more of a background mood.

“You look a little shaky, pet. Come and sit down. I sink down onto one of the mattresses and from the look on his face, he remembers the last time he was on one of them and the post kissing lethargy gives way to wariness again. “Sit down, love. Relax a bit. Maybe we can do that again, in a little while. If you like? In the meantime, I’ve got just the thing to help you unwind a bit more.” He slides down next to me, watching for clues of what’s going to happen next. He’s not stupid; he knows there are two forfeits still to go. I crawl over to my trunk and I know damn fine that he’s got his eyes fixed firmly on my arse and I deliberately shift my hips, as I rummage for my treasures. There’s a little whimpering at the back of his throat and it sounds so sweet. Shift and swivel and crawl back and he can’t take his eyes off of me. He looks so fucking gorgeous, lips red and slightly swollen, little teeth marks fading slowly into velvet skin.

“Here, pet.” I hold out my hand and offer him my prize. “This is for being a good boy and it’ll take care of the second part of our agreement.” His eyes move from my face, to my hand and back up again.

“Spike, I’m not smoking any more opium. Not after last time. I haven’t been able to look a banana in the face for days.” His voice is caught somewhere between pleading and resolute, and it sums him up so completely.

“Don’t worry, love, it’s not opium. I know you’re not ready for that again. It’s just a little pot. Nothing scary. It’ll just help you to relax, that’s all. Can’t do your lessons properly, if you’re all tense. You might hurt yourself.” He’s staring at the joint, like it might bite him, and then slowly moves to take it out of my hand. Good boy.

“This isn’t going to make me do anything stupid, is it? It’s not going to make things go all Sergeant Pepper again, because I can go a while before I have that kind of wackiness in my head.” I can’t help grinning at his descriptions. He’s got a wider general knowledge than anyone will ever give him credit for.

“No love, no pink elephants and definitely no blue meanies.”

He looks up and grins suddenly. “So just a bleached menace, instead. Although, maybe this whole thing is one big hallucination.”

“Maybe it is love. In which case, there’s no harm in a little smoke.” Before he can argue, I slip forward for a brief sweet kiss and when he opens his mouth, I slip the joint between his lips and light the end. “Remember the form, love. Just suck gently and pull in the smoke. That’s it. Slowly now, and hold it for a moment and let it out. Gently now.” He’s got his eyes fixed on my mouth, like he’s reading my lips, and I stroke my hand across his throat in time with his breaths. “Good boy. See, you learn so beautifully. Remembered everything you were taught, from last time. That’s it, now take it again. Just let the smoke do its work. Feel it curling round your muscles and your mind. Feel all those worries and fears slip to the side for now. You’re doing so well, love.” I can almost see the tension melting from his bones like wax as he follows my instructions again and again, leaving him relaxed and unafraid.

I take my own joint and light up, never taking my fingers from his face, stroking and mapping and memorising every angle and feature and he’s just sitting here letting me do it. Inhale, hold and exhale. He’s concentrated on making sure he’s doing it right - hypnotised by the process, following his breaths, soft and shallow and regular and I think I could do just about anything to him right now and he’d sit there and let me.

“You feel hot, love. Are you hot? Can practically see steam rising off of you.” He’s paused, breath caught mid inhale and I start to rub circles on his back.

He exhales slowly and smiles at me lazily. “I think it’s getting a bit warm. Funny, didn’t notice ‘til you mentioned it. But you’re right. When did it get hot?”

“Just a moment ago, love. I was thinking of taking off my shirt. Cooling down a bit. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” He looks a bit confused. “It’s your shirt, why would I mind?”

“No reason at all love.” He’s sitting cross legged, joint hanging casually from his fingers, like he’s been doing this for years. He looks so damn serene and I wonder briefly about the grey space between seduction and corruption. I move down to stroke the length of his spine and I can practically see him purring while I pull off my T-Shirt one handed. “That’s better, much better. Nice and cool now.”

He’s staring at me, eyes running across my chest and back. “You’re so pale.”

“Vampire, pet. Can’t really go working on my tan now, can I? Pale and cool, that’s me. Want to feel, love. Feel how cool I am?” He starts to move his hand, slowly at first and he’s looking at it like it’s got a mind of its own. One finger, then his whole palm, soft and warm, flat against my shoulder. Then he’s moving across my chest and down onto my abs, pressing gently like he’s seeking entrance.

“Cool to the touch, cool by nature. Is that part of the whole vamp package?” He’s looking curious, but he doesn’t move his hand away.

“Most vamps I know are anything but cool, love. Not everyone’s got style. Some of us are just naturals. And talking of natural, pet.” I tug lightly on his hair, pulling his attention back to my face. You’ve got a third instalment to deliver and I want to see you.“ He looks confused and I take the stub of the joint out of his fingers and rub my finger lightly across his collarbone and down the front of his shirt. “Want to see you without this stuff on. Without the costume you hide behind. Want to see you, natural, love. Bet you look beautiful.”

He’s starting to look a bit worried, but the drug is so wound in his head that he can’t summon up more that a small frown. “Spike, I don’t know. I’m big and awkward. You wouldn’t want to look at me. I’m not cool.” He’s biting his lip and it just makes me want to lick the confusion out of his whole body.

  
“Bet you are love. Let me see you. Let me find out just how cool you can be.” He doesn’t say anything, so that’s another yes. I slide forward and start to unbutton his shirt and he’s watching me. Not helping, just watching ‘til the last button pops and I slip the shirt back and over his shoulders. His skin is so hot to the touch and I feel like I could burst into flame just from being near him. He’s still just sitting, eyes fixed on my face and I wish I could tell what’s going through his head. Might as well go for broke, if there’s going to be a reaction, it’s going to be about now. I run my hands down his chest and he shivers slightly as I pause over pert nipples. Then down, following the trail of hair to his jeans. My fingers remember the way and before he can say anything, I’ve eased down his zip and I can feel that he’s hard. So hard.

“Lift your hips, love. You’ll feel more comfortable in a moment” It’s like he’s in a trance, and he follows my instructions without protest. There’s rough denim pulling down over tanned skin, soft cotton following in its wake and I pull downwards, hauling still tied sneakers, jeans and boxers off in one glorious movement. Just for a moment I pause, resting on my heels and stare at him and he stares back. Pupils dilated, and breath hitching in the silence and he’s stretched out on the mattress, tanned skin glowing in the candlelight. “See. Look how beautiful you are. Wish I had a mirror so I could show you what I see, pet.”

I run one finger down his face, coming to rest by the side of his mouth. And we’re kissing, gently at first, soft as butterflies, then harder and I groaning as he moves one hand up my spine, coming to rest on the back of my neck. I grasp hold of his other hand and guide it up to my chest, flicking a nipple with one big thumb and he grins into my mouth and pulls away “You like that, don’t you?”

“Could say that, pet.” I start to mirror his movements on his own chest, ‘til I can hear a whine, high at the back of his throat.

Nipples are fun, but I want to be everywhere at once. I want to learn every inch of this body from his hair to the sensitive skin between his toes. And I follow the thought, moving down across his neck and chest, licking across his belly and down along the inside of his thighs. He’s so sensitised and I don’t know how much longer he can last. Don’t think I’ve got much time left myself and I pop the buttons on my jeans and haul them down around my thighs as I move in for the final assault.

  
He’s arched half off the mattress, his body instinctively searching for my touch and he’s got his head thrown back as I bend down and lick the length of his cock. He’s so damn hard, and he’s making noises he’s probably not even conscious of. I slide to the side of his hips, coming to rest on my knees, legs spread as wide as my denim hobble will allow, and for a moment I just hover over him, admiring the view below. There’s another whimper and I grab one of his hands and place it round my own hard length and lock it there with my hand. I almost expect a reaction, but his eyes are glassy and there’s no one home. He’s too far gone in his own sensations and I bend forwards again and take him in my mouth, deep as I can. There’s friction against my stomach as two hands work in time and I feel like my skin’s coming off in strips. More frantic now, and he’s so close and he feels so fucking good and I want this on the menu every damn day. Just one more round of fingers and tongue and hard, hard flesh and I can feel him stiffen as he jerks and spasms and then I’m flying along with him, ‘til we’re both spent and shuddering in the aftermath.

He’s lying back on the mattress, right where I fantasised he’d be, just a few short nights ago and he’s so much more beautiful than I imagined. He’s addictive and I want to lock him up in my trunk. Keep him safe with my other drugs and know that he’s there; ready to take me higher than anything else I’ve ever tried. There’s spunk on my hands and I fix my eyes on his face and start to lick my fingers one by one. He’s watching, fascinated and a little curious I think, and then he raises his own hand up and licks tentatively and I can feel myself start to harden at the sight. Oh Christ, all I can see is his tongue, lapping at the stickiness and the sweat on his fingers and I haul my jeans back up my hips and drop myself onto his chest for another breathless kiss.

“Wow” His voice is breathy and laced with wonder and a healthy dose of lust.

“You said that already, pet. Going to have to find a new word if you’re going to keep surprising me.”

“Didn’t know I’d have to bring a thesaurus with me. I’ll remember that next time.”

Oh yes, result. “So, you want there to be a next time then, love.” I feel like I want to run round the room, punching the air, but that wouldn’t exactly add to my cool factor.

He’s smiling at me lazily. “Of course, there’ll be a next time. Got to come back. You still have to teach me how to fight, you know. Or did that fact escape when your brains dribbled out of your dick?” Brat’s got balls. Proved that in more ways than one.

“Right you are, pet. I think my memory is still pretty good, even for someone of my age. And right now we’re just going to rest a bit. Just want to touch you, enjoy your heat.”

“Okay, I can do that.” He sounds so sleepy, drunk on the focus and attention, and the pot and the sex and the adrenaline have drained him like a battery. I push him onto his side and go back to my explorations and he just purrs like my own personal pet. If I’d done a fourth forfeit, I suppose I could have tried for a collar, but that might have been one step too far. I’m content for now, just tracing patterns on his skin, losing myself in his warmth and his taste and his feel.

I could stay like this all day, but there’s one more thing left that I want to do and I start to whisper low in his ear. Nonsense words, dirty words, words about heat and passion and lust, hypnotising him with my voice and my fingers ‘til he’s almost lost in the sounds and sensations.

“Come on my lovely, just a little bit more. You know you want to. You’re so damn hot, so beautiful. My boy, my beautiful boy.” His skin’s on fire and I’ve got cool fingers sliding down his back, dancing across vertebrae like Fred Astaire. Then I’m there, nails scratching gently down his crease. Slowly does it, don’t want to spook him. Not now. One questing finger gently circling him, while I whisper nonsense in his ear. Just want him to get used to the sensation and make him relax while I grope for the lube out of my pocket with the other hand. The snick of the top being popped sounds so loud in the sudden silence and he stiffens and shifts out of his trance. Suddenly conscious that he’s stretched out beside me, bollock naked and I’ve got one finger poised over his arse.

“Spike?” His voice is rough and low and just a little bit spacey. “What’re you doing?”

Well, I could say we were playing doctors and nurses, but not sure how well it would go down. For once, honesty seems the best policy. “Well love, we were getting on so well and all. I thought it was a plan to take things to the next stage as it were.”

“The next stage? You were going to put your fingers up there.” He’s embarrassed to even describe the act and I’m just trying to decide how to rescue the moment when he rolls away and falls off the edge of the mattress, landing with a hard thump on the cold concrete floor. Well, that should wake him up and it might divert his attention for a bit, with any luck.

“Shit. Ouch. That hurt. God, this floor is just filthy and I going to have even more bruises now. And what are you laughing at, blondie?”

“Not a thing, pet. Not a damn thing.”

He scrambles back up onto the mattress, but not nearly so close and the afterglow is definitely fading. I think I’m going to have to get a bigger mattress, maybe even a proper bed if this dance lasts much longer. He’s back to being all angles and corners, trying to clothe himself in some dignity. And I’m not sure if he’s actually mad, or just taken unawares and back to being nervous, so I put on my best concerned face, while he talks at me.

“So. Your hand. My ass. Next stage? You were about to explain.” Shit, he’s like a terrier when he’s got something on his mind.

“Are we back to you having problems with me not asking first? You were happy with everything else, so I figured this was okay too.” I’m trying for reasonable. I don’t want to sound pissed off, but I was so fucking close and it’s so damn frustrating to stop now, but I don’t want to push it and lose all the ground I’ve gained.

“Spike, we’re talking about my virginity here. Well, not my virginity, virginity, because Faith got that. But we’re talking virgin territory here. I’m sure there are bits of Alaska that have seen more traffic than my ass. I’m not sure I’m really up to opening it for the tourist season, just yet.

God, he’s so damn cute when he’s flustered. Goes a lovely shade of red in some really interesting places. “You said you liked boys, pet. Logical that it’s going to happen, sometime or another. What’s the point of hanging onto something that’s going to go anyway? A penny saved is a penny laying worthless in the drawer as Angelus used to say.” I’m actually surprised I remembered anything the old sod said, never listened to him, if I could help it.

“A penny what? Spike, what the hell does that mean? And I can’t see Angelus coming out with little bits of home spun wisdom, anyway. Especially ones that don’t make any sense. Now Dru, possibly, but the great psychotic one doesn’t seem the type for bumper sticker quotes.”

“I know what you mean, but he was kind of fond of that one, for some reason. I think it was only because he couldn’t spell Carpe Diem. Pig ignorant Irish bog trotter. Anyway, we’re off on a bit of a tangent here, love.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me, I’m tangent boy and hey, I thought you couldn’t help me with my trig! Okay, I’m shutting up boy, now and I’m also getting dressed boy, too.” I don’t think there’s much I can say at the moment. He’s just a bit panicked, so I just lay back and watch him scramble back into his clothes, although it really is a shame to cover up all that lovely flesh.

“Spike.” He’s paused, trying to put his thoughts in order. “The stuff we did. I had fun today. I thought you should know. In case it wasn’t obvious, I mean.” He’s blushing now and I feel like all his blood has gone straight to my cock. “I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s true. I can even sort of understand the forfeits, in a bizarre way. I was never going to get there on my own. But this last thing. If it’s going to happen, it has to be on my terms.” He’s learning and growing and he’s changing and I realise that I can wait ‘til he’s ready, because once he finally comes to me, he’s never going anywhere on his own again.

“It’s okay, love. I pushed it and I shouldn’t have. We came a long way today, literally! But you can’t blame a bloke for trying?” He’s grinning at that and I know that he’ll be back. “Anyway it’s a stupid saying. Angelus always was full of crap. Get yourself off and check in with the girl scouts. I’ll expect to see you back here tomorrow, okay? Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Sure. Next time we’ll even work in a boxing lesson. The Mayor isn’t going to go away, just because I’ve discovered the secret of being cool.”

“Tactics and fighting will be first on the agenda, love. We’ll see where we go after that. Maybe if you’re a good student, you’ll even get a reward.” And I wonder what I can think up in way of punishments.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Maybe you can help me with my trig homework, while you’re at it.” Once more grin and he’s out the door and away before I can reply.

Brat. Mind you, it might be fun just to see how many tangents I can push him down. I think that life is definitely looking up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. Absolutely anything it takes.


	12. Perceptions 11: Dancing in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike teaches Xander some more moves.

_**Perceptions 11: Dancing in the Dark**_  
Warnings – Little bit of touching and a lot of UST  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

Okay, so here we are again. Dingy warehouse, yours truly and one pretty little boy who wants to learn how to fight. He’s wearing his usual hideous combination of colours, but at least now I know exactly what’s underneath. One thing’s for sure, by the time I’m done with him those shirts will be in the bin and he’ll be wearing something a little more flattering. But for now, I’m content to let him wear the clown get up, if it means he stays under the radar for everyone else. Not that any of the demon population would dare, since I put the word out, but I’m still not so sure about some of his little group. They all want a piece of him, in some form or another, and I’m really not one for sharing.

“Spike? Spike, are you in there? You kind of drifted or something, like you were daydreaming. Or with vamps, would it be night-dreaming, given that it’s supposed to be about your mind drifting when you’re awake and vamps are nocturnal, and when are you going to actually teach me anything? I even thought about bringing you an apple, but I thought you might not appreciate the joke.”

“Probably would get stuck in my fangs, pet. Besides, I think I’ve taught you plenty already, wouldn’t you say?” It doesn’t do any harm, now and again, to remind him that he’s playing with fire coming to me, but I think he really does get it and he’s made his peace with himself.

“Right then, so the first thing we need is a little bit of a warm up. Can’t get physical if you’re tense and your body’s all cold – know what I mean, pet?” I can’t help leering slightly, but he’s just looking at me, eyebrows raised. Lad’s definitely getting an attitude on him. I knew I was a good teacher. He’s going to give his little friends a shock one day very soon, I reckon.

“Okay. Warm up. Makes sense. So what you suggesting? Dodge ball? Circuit training? Callisthenics? Because I can tell you now, leotards are not a good look on me, and no, I’m not going to tell you how I know. And I should stop making with the words right now, before I dig an even bigger hole.”

He really gets a mouth on him when he’s embarrassed and I pull back the lid of one of the boxes stacked against the wall, and pull out a battered ghetto blaster and a pile of tapes.

“Spike, I’m almost afraid to ask, but what the hell are you doing?“

“Have a little faith, love.” And there’s that look again. Then The Buzzcocks are off and running, blasting at full volume, and I can’t help bouncing in time.

 _You spurn my natural emotions. You make me feel like dirt. And I hurt_

“Come on, pet. Feel the beat. If you’re going to fight, you need to learn how to move. “

 _And if I start a commotion, I run the risk of losing you. And that’s worse._

“Listen to the bass, feel it in your belly and your back. Let your hips go.”

 _Ever fallen in love with someone._

He stands there for a moment looking at me, like I’ve completely lost the plot, but I can tell the instant the music gets to him, and he can’t help but move.

 _Ever fallen in love. In love with someone._

Head bobbing, arms flailing like he’s trying to take off. It ain’t elegant, but neither’s the music.

 _Ever fallen in love. In love with someone._

He’s bouncing up and down, doing his best tigger impression, and he’s just hooked right onto the beat. Once I’m sure the music’s curled around him, I start to move in ‘til we’re almost face to face, bouncing to the beat, letting the bass dictate the moves and reactions.

 _You shouldn’t have fallen in love with._

Pete Shelley and his boys do their thing and my boy does his and bloody gorgeous he looks, as the chorus kicks in again.

 _Every fallen in love with someone  
Ever fallen in love, in love with someone  
Every fallen in love. In love with someone  
You shouldn’t have fallen in love with._

The song closes down, and by the time the music moves onto the next band, I’m standing right by his ear. “Well love, think that’s got you loosened up a bit?” He just grins back.

“I know Buffy sometimes trains with music, but I don’t remember Giles starting any of her training sessions quite like that.”

“Oh, I think your Giles might surprise you, pet. But I don’t think the Slayer would appreciate it too much.”

“So what’s next? We fight?” He’s positively glowing from his recent exertions and it’s all I can do to stop myself throwing him against the nearest flat surface and screwing him silly.

“Not yet, pet. Now you’re a bit relaxed and loose, we’ve got to work on the biggest element of any type of fighting: control.” I saunter back to the tapes and reluctantly turn off the driving beat of The Clash, and change it for something just a little different. “Control - that’s the hardest thing you’ll ever learn. Following your partner, anticipating their movements, going with their flow. Only then will you learn how to oppose them.”

“And I’m hazarding a guess right now, but you’re proposing to teach me control by what? Dancing to the Sex Pistols Greatest Hits? Boxercise with the Ramones? Or maybe Aerobics for All with Iggy Pop?” Brat. I like a bit of attitude, but there’s no need to be nasty about some of the best music on the planet. I’ll hold my peace for now and get him back later.

“Very funny, love. Class acts, all of them. Surprised you’ve actually heard of Iggy Pop. Now if ever there was a bloke who you could work up a sweat dancing to, it was him. But right now, I’ve got something a bit different, but just as classy.”

Right on cue, the lush tones of Cole Porter weave through the barren space, furnishing it with sound and texture and the atmosphere of another, more civilised age. I move forward and take him in a formal hold and his eyes are fixed on my face, waiting for a clue of what’s to come.

 _Some get a kick from cocaine_

“Dance with me, pet. Follow my moves. Watch me, not your feet. Feel my body through your arms and your hands. Anticipate my movements and let your muscles remember the steps when they come round again.”

 _I’m sure that if  
I took even one sniff_

I’m holding him so close and he’s stiff and uncertain with the stance and the unfamiliar rhythm, but again the music does its job, just as I knew it would, and we’re moving round the warehouse.

 _That would bore me terrifically, too._

I’m whispering in his ear: words of encouragement, words of instruction and words laced with just an edge of seduction and allure.

 _Yet, I get a kick out of you._

His whole attention is focused on my face and my voice and he has no idea that he’s moving with me, swaying to music.

The song ends too soon and he’s slightly breathless and glowing with enthusiasm and excitement. “Wow, that was…. that was awesome. I mean, I remember we had to learn some dances in 3rd grade, but I was such a dork and was always standing on everyone’s toes. Got to the stage, the only person that would dance with me was Willow, and she made me do a study session for every squashed toe.”

“You’ve grown up a bit, love. But do you understand what you did? You felt the music and your body did what you told it to. No flailing arms, no clumsy feet. You have to be able to call it up, whenever you need it. All that control, all that focus. Dancing, fighting, it’s all just moving to the music in your head, and once you master it, you can use it to seduce someone and you can use it to kill.” He looks a bit startled by the word ‘kill’ and I can see it finally sinking in. I’m not just going to teach him to defend himself. I’m going to teach him beat his opponent in the only way a demon understands – terminally. I leave him to process that thought for a moment and then change the mood.

“So pet, that was really good and like I said, good boys get rewards.” We’re still standing so close and Cole has given way gracefully to Gershwin, as I move in quickly and give him a swift hard kiss on closed lips, and then away again before he can respond.

“Hey, no fair” I actually think that might be the beginnings of a pout and there’s nothing I want to do more than take that bottom lip and suck it ‘til it’s red and swollen, but that’s not on the agenda right now. Christ, this is hard. There better be some bloody good reward at the end of it all.

I just grin at him, unrepentant. “That’s what you get for making fun of some great bands, pet. Anyway, always leave them wanting more. It’s in the ‘Evil’ handbook.”

“Evil handbook? I didn’t expect you to follow the rules Spike. I thought you’d be more one for tearing up the handbook.”

He’s got that attitude again and I can feel a little sparring coming on. I think someone needs to land on his arse a couple of times. “Normally I would, pet. But this is my own personal set of rules. Means I can change them when I like. And talking of changing things….. I’m not going to teach you to box, pet. Not just now, anyway”

“What? But you promised. What’s the point of all that warm up stuff, if you’re not going to keep your promises? Or was it just a chance for a bit of groping and teasing?”

“Yes, I know I promised, and no the warm up wasn’t just an excuse to tease you, although that was fun too.” To demonstrate the point, I grab him by the belt and pull him back towards me, grazing my thumbs across his stomach and his hips. Right on time, there’s that little noise, high in the back of his throat and I pause, hands resting gently over the top of his fly. ” I’ve been thinking. Boxing’s not going to help you win this fight. Don’t worry, I will teach you. There’s lots of useful stuff that I can show you, but like I say, I’ve been thinking about what you’ve told me about the Mayor. Even did a bit of research on my own.” He doesn’t need to know that my methods have more to do with intimidation and fun with entrails than they have with hitting the musty tomes, but each to his own. And the way he’s looking at me, I think he might have more clue about my methods than I give him credit for.

“This bloke, the Mayor. He’s a player. A shrewd operator. What you need are tactics and battle plans. What you don’t need is the same old, one on one, attack from the front and hope for the best strategy. It’s not even a strategy, really. You’ve done it too many times in the last couple of years and it’s getting downright predictable. That’s where the tactics come in. Got to come up with something that the nasties won’t ever expect. So every time we meet we’ll do some warm up and some fighting and then we’re going to talk about how you’re going to win. Most battles are won in the planning stage.”

For some reason that gets a laugh and he really is skating very close to the edge, now. “Right. And you’re telling me that all your plans turn out okay?”

I pull closer and there’s a lovely rasp of rough denim rubbing together and that shuts him up very nicely, and he’s looking a little distracted. “Don’t know, pet. I think sometimes they turn out just fine.” One small shift of the hips and the little noise is back. “And if they don’t work out, well, you have to know how to improvise. That’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Got it: warm up, fighting, tactics, improvisation. So we’ve done the warm up, are we going to fight now, or do I have to resort to asking if we’re there yet?”

“What you’ll get is a spanking, if I get any more of your lip.” He opens his mouth with a smart reply and then really thinks the threat through and changes his mind. Interesting, so that’s not a kink. But I’m sure I can work on him. I let go of him, reluctantly, and move back towards the centre of the room.

“So, right, love. First thing, get your shirt off and before you say anything, you’re going to get sweaty and that shirt doesn’t need any more stains on it.” I’m pleased to see that he doesn’t even argue, so progress is definitely being made. “Right then. I want you to come at me.”

“What?” Okay, that probably wasn’t the best turn of phrase, but I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.

“Attack me. Pretend I’m the bag over there. Remember how good it felt when the punch fell just right. I want you to do the same thing. Remember this isn’t a boxing ring. There’s no referee and there won’t be when you do this for real. So do it. Try to hit me. If you think you can?” Got him. Now there’s a challenge in the air, and I can almost see him pull his determination and his focus round him like a cloak. “Come on, what’re you waiting for?” I start to move, bobbing towards him and then away, just out of arms reach. Teasing and taunting, and gradually he starts to move in time. He’s clumsy at first and his first punch goes so wide it almost spins him around. The second is better, but he’s moved in too close and I stick out my foot as momentum carries him past me, and he’s crashing full length onto the mattress.

“Hey, no fair!” He rolls over and lies there, glaring, and the urge to shag him stupid returns with a vengeance.

“You’ve already said that, pet. Find another line. And anyway, that’s the second thing in the Evil handbook, pet – there’s no such thing as ‘not fair’.”

He’s back on his feet as I’m speaking and we’re back to circling again. “Remember the dance, love. Feel the rhythm; hear the beat in your head. It can be anything you like, so long as it helps you focus. Watch your partner and let your body do the rest.” Circle and back, circle and back. Forward and sidestep, forward and back. I’m just considering how to liven things up when he tries again, and he almost had me that time, but then he’s back on that mattress. Sprawled and breathing hard.

“Beginning to think you like it down there, pet.” There’s no glare this time, just one hand extended, looking for a pull up, as he regains his breath. I bend down and grasp his forearm to help him rise, when he twists and throws all his weight to one side, and bugger me, I’m flat on the mattress beside him and he’s laughing at me!

“Welcome to my humble abode. You get a terrific view of the cobwebs from this angle.” He’s grinning at me, skin flushed and sheened with sweat and I can feel myself start to harden at the sight. Christ! And I’m telling him about focus.

“The view’s just fine from where I’m looking, pet.” I wait for him to blush, but there’s a different expression in his eyes. Not exactly predatory, more like he’s weighing up the consequences of future actions and I’m back to wondering what’s going on in that head of his. I think about asking, but before I can even form the words, he’s rolled over and hovering above me.

“So, now I think it’s time for a forfeit from you, for a change,” and he moves in for a kiss. Fast and hard to start with, just like I did to him, and then he’s got his tongue in my mouth, tracing the insides of lips and teeth, exploring and mapping every inch, and just this once I let him have control. As suddenly as it began, he withdraws and finishes with a soft kiss on my bottom lip.

“See blondie, you must be rubbing off on me.” God. Told him he’d make a great straight man, but he’s talking again before I can get the line out. “I’ve definitely learned something today.”

“And what’s that, pet?”

“Like you said, sometimes the full frontal attack isn’t the best way. Sometimes, playing up a weakness can lure your enemy into a false sense of security.”

He’s sitting back on his heels, looking at me with an expression that’s almost gleeful and I can’t remember the last time I saw him this happy, outside of being stoned. I lie there, staring at him incredulously. “You trying to say, you deliberately fell, so that you could pull that last stunt?”

“Could be.” Definitely gleeful.

“Bollocks! You punched. You missed. I put you down!”

“Could be. Or maybe, I just improvised once I was down here. Went to Plan B, as it were. “

“You, are evil, pet.”

“You know, I think that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Any minute now he’s going to stick his tongue out, I can just tell.

“Remember what I said about that spanking, pet. Now come on, we’ve still got work to do.” I push myself up in one easy movement and watch as he mutters about big vamp bullies, and hauls himself up with no little effort. Whether his dive was deliberate or not, he’s still going to have some more very nice bruises coming up.

So we’re back to circling, and feinting. Left, right, forward and back. Assessing each move and counter measure. Looking for the opening and the opportunity. This time I’ve put The Clash back on and it seems to help him. It’s going to take time to find his own music, but for now London’s Calling and he’s following its hypnotic beat. Back and slide, punch and roll. Push and push and push and he just keeps pushing right back. Joe Strummer’s planting Spanish Bombs and my boy’s laughing as he finally lands one triumphant punch to my jaw.

Shit, that actually hurt!

“Well done, pet. Knew you had it in you. Now you just have to do it every single time, if you’re going to do what’s needed against your bad guy.” I bend down to rummage back through the pile of tapes and then notice that the laughing’s stopped and he’s gone very quiet.

“Pet, are you listening to me. I was saying that….” As I straighten up, I notice that he’s moved away and is standing over by the punch bag, stroking the scarred leather and looking absently into space. I start towards him warily and stop a few feet away. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

He turns, startled, like he hadn’t heard me coming. “What? Oh no. I’m fine…. It’s stupid, really.”

“Okay, going to tell me what’s stupid?” It always amazes me how quickly he can change mood, and again I realise how very long it is since I was his age.

“It’s just… being here… doing the dancing and the fighting. You know, I had fun. Different fun than yesterday, obviously.” And I knew he hadn’t used up his quota of blushes for the day. “But it’s like stepping out of life for a little while, and at the end there, I remembered what’s waiting when I step back in. I wonder sometimes what they’d say, the gang I mean. If they knew what I was doing. I’m doing this to help. The Mayor is going to be a major deal and Buffy needs all the support she can get. That’s all I’m trying to be – her support. But I don’t know if she’ll understand. I went to a vampire for advice, not to her, not to the gang. And to add insult to injury, I went to a vampire who’s tried to kill her. Does that mean I trust you more than I trust my friends?”

And I have no idea how I’m going to answer that one, so I’ll settle for improvising again. “I don’t think you have to chose, pet. I keep telling you it’s about your choices. Well, sometimes not choosing, is a choice as well.” I think that sounded better in my head than it did in reality, but he looks half convinced.

“That’s what I want. Not to have to choose. But I just think she, they, would be shocked if they found out. They’d probably think I was possessed again, or being manipulated into stabbing them in the back. They wouldn’t see that I could actually make a choice.”

“I can see that. The old ‘et tu, Brute’ moment, But there’s one big difference, love. It’s not true. You’re not trying to overthrow them, or undermine them. You don’t think they’ve done something so apocalyptically stupid that you think you should take their place. It’s just the opposite. You’re trying to help, and if they do find out and they don’t understand, then they’re not the friends you deserve.”

This is all getting a bit heavy and I think it’s time for a diversion. “Anyway, when I think about the mess that surrounds the Slayer, I think most people would run a mile – teenage girl gets called to fight all kinds of evil, falls in love with member of said evil, who’s too broody to be evil. Dies, comes back, fights more evil. Sleeps with the broody one, releases even more evil to do general evilness and then finally sends evilness to hell where it belongs, before welcoming his broodiness back again to continue being broody. It’s not even Shakespearian, pet. It’s more like Greek tragedy when you think about it.”

I glance up and he’s desperately trying to keep a straight face. “Well if you put it like that, it does kind of put things in perspective, I suppose.”

“’Course it does, pet. Now I can’t believe I’m saying this, but put your shirt back on and get yourself off. You need to get some sleep, because I’m going to push you as hard as I can for the rest of the week and you’re going to need all the energy you can get.”

He picks up his monstrosity of a shirt and shrugs into it, wincing as muscles stretch under bruised skin. Buttons all fastened and he takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye.

“I’m doing the right thing. I don’t have to explain it to them, but I will if I have to. Right now, we all need to focus on sorting out the Mayor and any baggage I’ve got with the gang will just have to wait ‘til the world hasn’t ended.”

“Proud of you, pet. Do what you think you need to and you’ll be fine. They may not agree with you, but that’s where we’re more alike than you might think. You’ve just got your own handbook, that’s all.” Of course his one doesn’t include the best way to gut a Fyarl demon without getting your hands dirty, but that’s just a lesson for another day.

“Anyway, love. I said good boys get rewards and I’ve just had to listen to you angst away about your little gang, so I reckon I deserve a reward.”

“Really? A reward?”

“Yep.”

“So is this for me to choose, or you?”

“Oh I think this is my call, love.” I saunter across, attitude in every step and I can see him trying to psyche himself for what’s to come. I’ve got one hand resting on his hip and thread the other one through the messy tangle of hair before I move slowly down to trace the faint line of stubble along his jaw. “Go and get some sleep, love. Don’t want you tired tomorrow; we’ve got a lot to get through.” One small sweet kiss and I move away, before I decide that I’m not going to let him go at all.

He’s standing there, looking hesitant for a moment, then smiles at me and it feels like the sun’s come out in this dingy room. “See you tomorrow, blondie. And watch out, because I’m going to be ready for you.” One more smile and he’s gone. Again.

“Sure you will, love.”

Why does it always end like this? With me here and him going. I really don’t know how long I can keep being patient, and I hope this Mayor bloke hurries up and goes for broke, because that’s the only thing stopping me from taking exactly what I want.

I’ll give it a week. Then we’ll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _In case anyone is interested:_
> 
> The Buzzcocks are a Manchester punk band who formed in 1975. They’re still going today, but their best known song probably remains “Ever Fallen In Love With Someone”. It’s been covered a pile of times, and my own favourite cover is by Fine Young Cannibals – although there’s nothing can quite touch the original, because it’s just fab.
> 
> I Get A Kick Out Of You was written by Cole Porter and originally featured in the 1934 musical Anything Goes. Sometime around the late 1950’s/early 1960’s the verse about the cocaine was removed and an alternative was inserted. I kind of thought Spike was bound to have the original!
> 
> Finally, thanks to everyone who answered my question about what school would come below High School. As you can see in the end I actually sidestepped the question by making it so Xander had the dancing lessons in 3rd grade. Talking to Maz, we both vividly remember being forced to have dancing lessons at school around that age – so I decided to force our humiliations onto Xander!


	13. Perceptions 12: Tuxedo Junction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander visits Spike after the Prom

_**Perceptions 12: Tuxedo Junction**_  
Warnings; No drug use, but more or less everything else! Cough….  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/) , who really went above and beyond the call of duty with this one.

Told myself I’d give him a week and that’s been and gone. Granted, I didn’t actually tell the boy we were working to a schedule, but that’s not the point. I’ve been patient. I’ve been bloody patient, but I’m not running for sainthood and a bloke needs a little satisfaction now and then.

He’s come to me for the last 7 nights. Don’t know when he’s sleeping, ‘cause he’s still being chief doughnut carrier for his friends and, as far as I know he’s not missing school. Probably knows he’d get it in the neck from the oestrogen brigade, if he pulled a stunt like that. It’s like he’s hiding in plain sight - doing all the things they expect, so they won’t look below the surface. He’s right to be worried about what they’d think, what they’d do if they knew about our training sessions, but I’m not going to tell him that. By the time they get to find out, he’s not going to be around for them to whine at.

This last week he’s bloomed, like a flower on one of those god-awful shirts of his. He’s developing quite a taste for the more esoteric parts of punk and his waltz is coming on a treat. He’s not even embarrassed, taking off his costume anymore. It’s just part of the ritual, part of the game, and he knows it’s a game, even though the stakes are so damn high.

His fighting’s coming on as well. He’s got a pretty creative brain when it comes to some of the nastier moves and I’ll admit that he’s got me a few times. Only a few, and only on the days I haven’t had much time to hunt before he arrives. That’s another interesting thing; he always leaves me a couple of hours of darkness before he makes an appearance. Tacit acknowledgement of what I am and what I need to live. I wonder what he’ll taste like. Bet he’ll taste so sweet – like a kiss that doesn’t ever stop.

It’s been more or less the same pattern for days: warm up, a little banter, fighting of one kind or another, innuendo and then talking about tactics and plans. The serious groping keeps happening in the middle of the fighting. There’s something about getting up close and personal, and letting his aggression come to the surface, that makes him forget his inhibitions. Haven’t even had to resort to my medicine chest again. It’ll keep. He’s pretty happy with the kissing and the rubbing and the groping, and all that kind of stuff, and so he should be. I’m a gorgeous looking bloke. And the bloke thing definitely doesn’t faze him, but then he told me it wouldn’t. Not sure I really believed him at the time. He gets this spaced out look when I’m giving him a hand job, like he’s on another planet, and he looks so damn intense when he gives me one in return that I think he sometimes forgets to breathe. Suppose I could always do something about that, permanently, but I’m not sure I want to.

Last night started off the same as usual, but we started talking about strategy and how the white hats could surprise the nasties, and sort out the latest Hellmouth megalomaniac with least fuss and casualties. He’s got an interesting mind, like he can think round corners and I really don’t think his gang listen to him enough. But he’s not stupid, he knows the score. I’ve listened in on him, a couple of times, and heard him plant a seed - just a throwaway line, before he moves on to something trivial. But often as not, someone picks it up and suddenly there’s an idea, and before you know it there’s a plan. Not sure what’s going to happen this time, because he’s got a plan fully formed and thought through sitting in his head, and he’s going to present it to the merry band. His plan! We talked about it in detail for hours and I had to nudge him when he finally started to flag and fall asleep mid sentence. Must be turning into the poof because I offered to walk him home. Not going to have him wandering about this shithole at that time of night. But he just smiled sleepily and stretched out, grabbing my arm ‘til I rolled towards him. Next thing, he’s using me as his own personal teddy bear and curls up to sleep. Wasn’t really anything else to do, but go with the flow. Nice to curl up with a warm willing body, even if it’s just to sleep. He wasn’t even embarrassed when he woke up this morning - just grinned and kissed me, and said he’s see me later. I’m beginning to feel like the bloody girl in this relationship.

So here I am: waiting. Again. I’ve been passing the time lighting candles and then dripping the wax across cobwebs, watching the spiders twitch and fight, ‘till they’re caught like the mosquitoes in that dinosaur film. Got bored after the first ten. It’s past the boy’s usual time for being here, but he warned me he’d be late tonight. Got some little school party thing to go to. Said people would notice if he gave it the go by. Even going with a girl, which pissed me off no end, but he says he’s only escorting her and that there’s nothing romantic. Bloody better not be. I’m just starting to think I’ll go and check out this hop for myself; see what’s so damn important that he can’t miss it, when I hear footsteps coming down the steps. Can’t have the brat thinking I was hovering so I move across to one of the mattresses and sink down, lighting a fag as I go.

“Spike? You there? Umm, hi. Sorry I’m a bit later than I said. Okay, a lot later than I said. Had a bit of a thing with some demon dogs. Not exactly what I was anticipating on prom night, but hey, Hellmouth! Should really have known better. Demons and formal wear, who’d have thought it would be a red rag and bull job.”

I can’t see him, for the line of candlelight between me and the door, and I have no idea what he’s on about, but just as he stops talking, he comes out of the darkness of the outer basement and every comment and smart remark just freezes in my throat. Christ, he’s beautiful: dark hair, obviously under control at the start of the evening, but now starting to do its own thing; face, pale under his tan, like he’s not sure of his welcome, even after all the time we’ve spent together; eyes, huge and uncertain. I had no idea his little party was a formal do, but there he is: classic tux moulded to every curve and line and I’m surprised he made it here in one piece despite the warnings I’ve put out. I wish I had a camera, so I could capture how delectable he looks. So I could take him through the photograph, like some poncy academic, deconstructing just what makes the whole picture so fucking compelling.

He obviously takes my silence as a sign that I’m pissed off with him. ”I really am sorry I’m so late. When I realised the time, I didn’t go home to change and I know I’m not exactly dressed for whatever funky Kung Fu move you’ve got planned.”

He really has no bloody idea.

“Think you look just fine, pet. Can’t really beat the classics, and that’s definitely a good look on you. Did you have a good night, tonight?”

“Huh? Oh sure, yes. Devil dogs aside. But that’s just Hellmouthy stuff and Buffy dealt with it. Oh, and she got a really neat umbrella class protector award thing. Got thanked for keeping most of the class alive to get as far as graduation. Made me think - maybe my plan for the Mayor isn’t as crackpot as I thought.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, love. So, how was your date?”

“What, Anya? Oh, that was fine. And like I told you last night, it wasn’t a date - I was just on escort duty, and she knew that. I may be dumb, but even I know better than to get in tow with an ex-vengeance demon. I like my manly parts where they are. She may have lost her powers for now, but I’m so not giving her food for thought if she ever gets career minded again.”

“You’re not dumb, pet. Anything but. And I’ll only say this once more - don’t sell yourself short." I'm starting to get a crick in my neck looking up at him, so I push myself up from the mattress, and throw the cigarette stub onto the growing pile in the corner. "So you had a good night. Evil vanquished. Lots of cakes and presents and a general great time had by all the kiddies. I’m starting to feel left out. If I’d know you were getting all dressed up, I’d have come and given you a dance, pet.“ He really does blush so beautifully and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing all that lovely blood rushing under his skin.

“I kind of think someone might have noticed you weren’t part of the class, Spike. But I did think of you. The girls said that my dancing had improved and even Cordy was sort of complementary. You should have seen her, she looked so beautiful.”

“It was a nice thing you did, pet. Probably get a gold star or something, but you can’t go back over old ground.” Not if I have anything to say about it.

“I’m not trying to. I think my tastes are running in a slightly different direction, wouldn’t you say? But, I can still appreciate ‘pretty’ when I see it.” He looks shy all of a sudden and then tentatively reaches out and brushes one hesitant finger along my cheek. “I think you’re pretty.”

“Do you now, pet? Just shows you’ve got good taste.”

“And I mean that in a purely manly…I mean vampirey way. You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean, love. Now less talking.” His hand is still hovering just above my face and as he moves to withdraw it, I stop him and slowly take his middle finger in my mouth. His eyes are huge and the candlelight flickers in the reflection, as I gently suck and then scrape my teeth along the length of one strong capable digit. One last lascivious lick and I surrender his hand and just grin at him. “Like I said, pet. Hearing about all the fun you’ve been having, a bloke could start to feel left out.” I turn away and move across to the pile of tapes lying in a heap on the floor, as I wait to see what he’ll come back with. But there’s nothing, just silence. It’s nice to know that, even after all our fooling around, I can still make him speechless, from time to time.

I’m rummaging through the tapes, looking for just the right thing, and I know he’s got his eyes fixed on my back, like he’s waiting for his cue. Right at the bottom of the pile, I find exactly what I’ve been looking for – perfect, and I shove the tape in the machine and turn back towards him, stalking him like prey.

“So, love. Going to show me what I’ve missed? Going to dance with me? Show off those new moves, that had the little chickies all a flutter.” There’s the sound of a restless audience in the background and just as I slide my hands the length of his back, he shivers, and the wail of a guitar sounds high and long, hanging in the air, playing out the story of the Slaughter on 10th Avenue. “You know the moves, love. Don’t need to think. Just feel the music. Lose yourself in the sounds and the sensations. Just feel.” We start to move, slowly at first, circling the floor, moulded from shoulder to hip as the guitar washes over us, plaintive and hypnotic. Then hands are moving like they’ve got a life of their own – both his and mine. Tracing along backs and shoulders and down across hips and arse. The music’s playing and the audience are going wild, but there’s only us in the room. Him and me, and I want to hold this moment as long as I can.

He’s got one hand firmly on my hip, fingers splayed, almost possessively, and the other’s gone walkabout, tracing patterns up my spine like I did to him on the night I gave him the pot. Finger tips are dancing up my neck and finally brushing gently across my scalp.

“Definitely pretty.” There’s just a hint of a laugh in his voice, and now he’s getting brave. Small kitty licks across my bottom lip and then more insistent – tongue seeking entrance as he looks straight into my eyes, like he’s asking for permission. Suddenly there’s no finesse, just focus on teeth and lips and tongues and heat and so much warmth and feeling. As the music echoes and dies, we’re left with the sound of his breath hitching in the silence, as his hand moves down and retraces the path down my jaw.

He’s got his mouth right next to my ear and I can feel the heat of his breath as he regains control. “Don’t think we could have done that, if you’d turned up at the prom.”

“Oh, I don’t know, pet. Not averse to giving a bunch of horny teenagers a bit of a show. I have it on very good authority that I’m an excellent teacher.”

“Right. Well, I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Much rather you paid attention to one particular horny teenager.”

“Is that right, pet?”

“Uh huh.”

“Think you’re being neglected, do you?”

“Could be.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

He’s staring at me again and I think I could lose myself in those eyes – Dru’s eyes, Angelus’ eyes. Could say I have a type, I suppose. But there’s no malice here. No madness and no calculation – so innocent and so open, and just as I frame the thought, they change and they’re brimming with humour and just an undercurrent of excitement. I’m good at reading eyes.

“So, blondie. What do you suggest?”

“Well for one thing, I think we can ditch some of the formality.” I reach up and tug gently at the end of his bowtie and, to my surprise, it starts to come away under my hand. “You like keeping me on my toes, pet. I expected a made up job.”

He grins, just a little bit bashful, but the laughter is still there. “Yeah, well, I had to get Mrs Summers to tie it for me, because it was so not happening on my own, and me and Willow and formal wear definitely don’t mix. I just wanted to do it right, you know?”

“Sure, pet. I know.” I hold either end of the tie and pull him in for a short breathless kiss, and then rest for a moment, nibbling gently on his bottom lip, marking him in my own way. “You taste so good, love.”

I let go of his tie and move down, popping the buttons on his jacket, one by one. “Feel like it’s my birthday, pet. Get to unwrap my present and the gift wrap is so pretty.” I push back and slide the jacket off his shoulders and down. “Peeling off the tissue paper, layer by layer.” I pull the heavy material off his arms and drop the jacket down on the spare mattress. “It’s part of the excitement of getting a present - the suspense as you delay the unwrapping. Untie the ribbon, instead of cutting it. Fold the paper back, instead of ripping it.” I slide my hand down his white shirt, pausing to rub across his nipples and he’s breathing so hard. “Lot to be said for delayed gratification, love.” I slide my hands down and settle just over the top of his fly. “But there comes a time when there’s only one thing left to do, only one excitement still to come.” He’s making little whimperings now and his hands are roaming across my back, as he bites the lip I marked only minutes before. “I want to unwrap my present, love. Can I?” And my questing fingers stop their dance across his hips and I look him straight in the eyes. “Will you let me, love?”

Just the slightest pause, and that’s okay, and then he nods. His eyes are glazed and almost black and he’s trembling under my hand. “Such a beautiful boy. Told you that before. Meant every word.” I’ve got one hand scratching across his chest and the other gliding slowly across his fly, and I don’t know how much longer he can last. Buttons undone, one by one, uncovering smooth tanned skin, and the shirt goes the same way as the jacket.

My hand continues to caress across his hips and down his thighs, glancing over his crotch, and he’s so damn hard. Could make him come as he stands there. Just from my touch. But humiliation isn’t my thing and I undo one enticing button and slide down the zip. “That’s it, love. Just like before. Only the packaging that’s different. Nothing new here. Nothing to worry about. Going to help me with the final unwrapping, pet?” I’m not even sure he’s processed the question, so I start easing his trousers off his hips.

“Need to get those pesky shoes off, pet. They’re great for dancing and you move so beautifully in them, but they’re a bit in the way, right now.” Still no reply and I bend down and undo the laces, one by one, and slide his shoes and socks off his feet. They’re so shiny and so obviously hired. He tries so damn hard, and seeing him there, bare footed, makes him look strangely vulnerable. I come up from my knees and kiss him again, partly for reassurance, and partly out of sheer lust, then I grab both his hands in mine and hook our thumbs in the top of his boxers - pulling underwear and trousers down together. I hold his hands and he steps forward out of the crumpled pile, like I’m handing him out of his carriage.

“Look at you, pet. The fighting and the dancing agree with you.” And it’s true. There are lines of definition just beginning to form round his muscles that weren’t there, even a scant week before. I keep hold of one hand, anchoring him, and pick up his trousers with the other, laying them down with his jacket and shirt. “No point in letting these get dirty, pet. You probably paid a pretty penny for them. No need for unnecessary forfeits now, is there.”

He just nods and then his hands are moving - skimming across my shoulders and down the front of my shirt. I stand there, still and silent, waiting for his next move, and he eases his hands under the clinging fabric, pausing for a moment, then pushes up, taking the material with him. “Arms up,” he whispers softly and I can hardly believe this boy standing before me – taking the initiative, taking control, and I raise my arms and let him drag the Tee-Shirt up and over my head. He leans forward and kisses softly, just on the pulse point of my neck and I can’t help shivering. “Thought you looked overdressed.” The laugh is back in his voice as he folds the shirt carefully and adds it to the collection on the mattress.

He’s smiling now. Not grinning, but a shy smile, like he’s shocked by his own audacity, but elated at the same time. His hands glide back up my chest and come to rest on either side of my neck. “Do you remember when I said it had to be my choice? My decision.”

“I remember, pet.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided, and I want this. I want you.” For the first time since we started to dance he’s back to looking uncertain, like he thinks he’s overstepped the mark. “If you want me, that is?”

Beautiful, brave boy. “’Course I want you, love. You’ve been driving me crazy these last weeks. I’m not known for my patience. But I wanted you and I was willing to wait. It’s not like me.” That’s it; the grin is back, just flickering across his face like a flame. “I think you’re the exception to my rules. There’s nothing in my handbook for dealing with you and I’ve been making it up as I went along.” Now I’m grinning as well and I can see him relax, tension melting out of him, as I move as close as I dare and run my fingers through the back of his hair. This is the moment, and I want to let go, but there’s just one more thing to do. I need to know that he’s sure. That he remembers who he’s dealing with. Just one final reminder and then there’s no turning back.

“Before we go any further, love, there’s some things I need to say. And I need you to listen.”

“Okay.” There’s no fear in his eyes, just curiosity.

“I’m a demon. I’m the boogy man. I’m the thing that made you hide under the bedcovers, when your mum put the light out when you were little. Your little gang would say I was evil, and they’d be right. They’d say that I can’t be trusted and they’d be right. They’d say I was a parasite. But there’s only one way for me to live, and that’s through taking life from others. When you’re here, I want to curl up in your heat, absorb it and make it my own. I see you blush and all the blood is coursing under your skin, and it makes me dizzy. That’s who I am, pet. You need to know that.”

“I know exactly what you are, Spike. You’re the fox, remember. You’re a hunter and you’re a killer, and that’s your nature. Nothing’s going to change that and I’m not arrogant enough to try. But foxes have cubs, they raise families, they have lives of their own. Then the cubs grow up and the cycle starts again. Are you going to turn me?”

“Not my intention, love. You’re too mouthy to make a good minion, and I’m not up to fatherhood just yet. Thought about you as a pet for a while, and you’d still look beautiful on your knees. But you’re more than that, love. I think you know that.”

“Sometimes I know.” He’s got his hand scratching lightly over his neck, tracing the path of old bruises. “You know, it’s funny. I lost my virginity to a psychotic Slayer on one of the most surreal nights of my already bizarre life. Now I’m offering myself to a vampire with a history of violence and mayhem, stretching back over a hundred years. I know what you are and I know that I feel safer with you than I ever did with Faith.”

“Can’t promise I’ll never scare you, pet. Can’t even promise that I’ll never hurt you. But it wouldn’t be deliberate if I did. I can promise you that. You sure you want to do this?” Just one small nod, and it’s like a tiny pebble rolling down the hill, gathering momentum as it goes. I wonder if he’s ready for the avalanche. “You know that it’s going to hurt, love. However much you relax, I can’t help that. “

“I know. I’ve been doing some reading. When the girls aren’t around, obviously. It’s amazing the stuff Giles had got stashed away on some of the back shelves.” I thought he’d run out of blushes, but I was wrong, and there’s a lovely red tinge shading up the length of his body.

“You know, there is another way. You don’t have to be on the receiving end.” He looks startled, like the thought had never occurred to him. “Don’t look so surprised, I have bottomed before. Okay, I don’t make a habit of it, but I know the ropes. Just a thought, love.” I really have stunned him and then he’s running his hands down my back and laying small kisses across my jaw.

“Thank you”, the whisper is so faint in my ear, and then there’s one brief kiss on my lips and he’s smiling into my mouth, just for a moment, ‘til he pulls back. “Seems I’m not the only one who can be surprising. It’s not that I don’t want to.” He’s looking a mite embarrassed now. “But I want to know what it feels like. I need to know. And I want it to be with you. Please.”

If I had any doubts, the hesitant ‘please’ shattered them like glass, and now there’s nothing between us, but lust and longing and a covering of soft worn denim. “Whatever you want, love,” and I turn away briefly and force open the lid of one of the unopened crates, pulling out a tangle of warm wool. “Might as well be comfy, pet. Don’t want you getting a spring somewhere delicate.” And I spread the blankets across the mattress, hiding the worst of the dirt and the stains. I wish I could have taken him somewhere nice - a hotel or something. But that would need planning, and this had to come from him, and I’ll just have to improvise. So we’re here, in this dingy warehouse basement, where he slept that first night and had nightmares about the dark Slayer, while I got off on the smell of his tears. This is what I planned for, but now that the moment’s here, I think I’m almost scared and I force the feeling down before it can take root.

“Right, love. Seems I’m still a bit overdressed.” In one economical move I shimmy out of my jeans and throw them in the general direction of the other mattress. “Come here, pet. Dance with me.”

“But the tape’s finished. Do you want me to choose something else?” He starts towards the pile of tapes, when I grab his hand and pull him back towards me.

“Told you, love. It’s about the music in your head,“ and he smiles and moves closer ‘til we’re glued together, cocks hard and rubbing together, as we start to move in time to the rhythm of his breath.

We’re circling round the makeshift bed, and my hands are grazing across his strong tanned back and down to rest at the bottom of his spine, and he mirrors my movements with every step. My fingers drift further down and nails scrape gently along his crease, and I can feel him tremble against me. One more small pass up and back, and then I shift away and take his hand.

“Be more comfortable lying down, love.” And as he sinks down onto the warm fleece of the blanket, I take a moment to retrieve some lube from the pocket of my jeans, and I put it down on the blanket where he can see it. “Turn on your stomach, love, and relax.” He moves to comply, but I’m not sure how comfortable he’ll be, lying flat with a hard on that looks like it could drill steel. “Good boy, just want you to relax.” I start to run my hands across his shoulders, kneading at tense muscles and then down the length of his spine. Feather touches now, just grazing the surface of his skin ‘til his whole back is sensitised and on fire. I feel like I could combust, just being near him. “So beautiful. I’ve waited for this for such a time, pet. Don’t think I’m letting you go after this.” My fingers are back to running down the crease, gradually pushing apart his cheeks, ‘til I can see exactly where I’m going. I keep one hand stroking in time with my voice, while I whisper nonsense into the air, keeping his attention as I coat one finger with lube and then pour a little over his hole. He shivers and tenses, and I soothe him with touch and voice, as I start to push one digit forwards. “Sshh, love. It’s okay.” Christ, he’s tight, and I can feel him tensing as I push further in. His breaths are hitching as I start to move my finger, circling slowly, ‘til I see him start to relax again. “Good boy.” I feel like I’ve been doing this forever, but it can only be a couple of minutes and now I slick up a second finger and withdraw slowly. Before he can say anything, I’m pushing back in again and there’s a whimper this time and I pause just for a moment and then cautiously start the dance again. Back and forward, circling slowly and then one gentle scissor followed by another, stretching him, helping him relax and he’s breathing in time with my movements. “Doing so well, love. I’m proud of you. Just one more finger and I know you’ll be fine.” I’m not sure how long I can hold on and I quickly pour lube onto a third finger and repeat the withdraw and move forward one last time. He can definitely feel that and he’s half raised himself up on his knees, weight balanced on his hands as I move within him. “That’s it, pet. Push back. Feel me filling you. That’s three fingers now. Just think what it’s going to feel like when I’m inside you. Going to make you feel so good, pet.”

For a moment, it’s like he’s stopped breathing and then there’s just one faint breath. “Spike, please.”

“Since you ask so pretty, love.” I keep working my fingers as I pour a slick of lube over my cock with the other hand, making sure it’s covered from root to tip. I withdraw the fingers slowly and there’s an audible sigh as I pull him towards me, positioning him on his hands and knees and kiss him softly on the back of his neck. “I really want to see you, pet, but it’s easier this way first time round.” He’s shaking now, trembling with need and just a hint of fear and I run my hands down his back and open his cheeks again and position myself where I’ve been aiming to be for so long. “Just breathe, pet,” and he struggles to obey as I nudge at his entrance, pushing gently at first, then harder. I’ve got one hand stroking across the dip in his back, the other helping to guide me forwards.

I push further, and that’s a low howl as his muscles spasm around me and he’s so damn hot. “You okay, pet?”

“It hurts, Spike. Christ, it hurts so much”

“I know, love. You knew it would, but soon the burn will turn to something better, I promise. Push down on me, like you did with my fingers. Follow my voice, follow you instincts.” And he’s pushing inch by heavenly inch and suddenly I’m all the way in. I pause, letting him readjust, letting him get back his breath and his equilibrium. “Feel so good, love. Knew you’d feel like this. Going to move, now. Want you to move with me. We’re still talking about music, love. This is just another dance.” I start to move slowly at first and he tries to follow me and can’t quite get the rhythm. “Listen to your breathing, love. Feel your heartbeat, follow my lead,” and then he’s moving in time. Slowly at first, and then faster as the music in his head starts to build. He’s making noises, muttering words I can’t begin to translate and I know he’s on the edge, and I’m right there with him. I can feel my balls drawing up and I reach round start to run my hand down his cock. Teasing at first but it’s just begging for attention and soon I’m stripping it and he’s so damn hard. “That’s it, love. You’re doing so well. We dance so beautifully together, got rhythm, like Astaire and Rogers.” One last thrust of my hips and one final long pull down his cock. “Come with me, pet.” I’m driving forward, hard, and he’s shuddering around me as he splatters the blanket and my hand with his come. We’re both gasping, and he tips forward onto the blanket and I move with him, still buried deep and I settle on his back and move my hands gently up and down his arms as he struggles for breath.

  
“Well, pet. I knew the first time I saw you that you had hidden talents. Just think how good you’ll be after a few more lessons.” There’s a muffled choke from somewhere in the depths of the blanket and I think he’s laughing at me. I hope he’s laughing.

“So maybe I will have to bring you that apple, after all.”

“Hmmm, fun with fruit. We can do that. Peaches are better though, pet. Think of all the fun you can have with all that juice” I lick a long stripe up his back to make the point.

“Oh God, I already had a problem with peaches being fuzzy. Now I’m definitely never going to eat them.”

“Suit yourself, pet. We could try nectarines instead, if you like?” There’s more laughter and I want to see his face. I start to withdraw, reluctantly, and I can feel every movement of muscle as I leave him and give a soft fleeting kiss to the top of his crease. “You okay, love?” I lie down beside him and pull him towards me, so he’s not lying in the wet patch, and he just nods and smiles and it’s enough.

“So. Astaire and Rogers? I suppose I’m the girl in this partnership?”

“Bet you’d look lovely in a little off the shoulder number, pet. I can see it now.” That’s it, he’s giggling again and I feel like such a ponce, that it makes me happy to see him like that.

“Well, love. Did that live up to expectations? Was it worth the wait?” Not sure what I’ll do if he says no.

“Hmmm, let’s see. What can I say – Ouch…. followed by Wow – again! I forgot to bring my thesaurus. Didn’t think I’d need it at the Prom. Promise I’ll be better prepared next time”

“So you want there to be a next time then, love?”

“Please.” He’s got that look like he’s caught half way between a grin and a question. “If that’s okay? I mean, if you want to?”

“Oh, I think I can be persuaded, love. Wouldn’t be much of a teacher, if I didn’t make sure you finished your course work.”

“Going to be your star pupil.” He’s yawning now and it’s definitely time he got some sleep.

“My only pupil, pet. One to one tuition. It’s the only way to get the best results.” His eyes are heavy and almost closed and he’s muttering softly under his breath. “Sleep now, love. It’s been a busy night.” I pull the edges of the blankets up and over us, pulling him close, soaking in his heat. We’ll see what the morning brings, but for now I’m content to lie here. One sweet warm boy in my arms and for once the rest of the world can wait ‘til I’m ready to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Factoid of the week._  
>  Slaughter on 10th Avenue is the name of the George Balanchine choreographed ballet which featured in Richard Rogers’ 1936 musical On Your Toes. The music to it is one of my favourite instrumentals ever and if you want to hear an amazing version of it, check out Ian Hunter (ex Mott the Hoople)’s brilliant double live album – Welcome to the Club. It features Mick Ronson doing a spectacular electric guitar version of Slaughter on 10th Avenue and that’s what I had in my mind for Spike and Xander to dance to.


	14. Perceptions 13: Twist and Turn and Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike thinks and Xander asks questions

_**Perceptions 13: Twist and Turn and Tango**_  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

Don’t know what time it is exactly, but I do know the morning isn’t far away. There’s just the faintest glow of daylight sneaking in through the grimy, little windows, but it’s like I can feel the sunlight soaking into my skin as I run my hands over the warm body curled up beside me. He looks so peaceful lying there - so trusting, despite my instructions to the contrary. I want this heat beside me all the time: warming my bed, glowing under my touch. I want a fire that will burn ‘til I’m ready to douse the flames.

I’ve lost the thread of how we got to this point. How I got here. It was meant to be a game - an escape from boredom. It started off as fun - taunt the human, watch him wriggle and fret. And I laughed. Then Dru left and there was silence. Then it was a distraction. More taunt the human. More tease. And this time, let’s see if he’s got teeth. And he had. Then he slept with the Slayer and somehow things changed. Sure I laughed at him, standing there in his boxers, his clothes and pride scattered at his feet. But part of me was so pissed off. Like she’d taken something that didn’t belong to her. Then his little gang of friends patronised him and I watched his confusion and I saw the advantage. I thought I had a chance to get back at them for all the shite that happened last year. Thought I could use him. Play Frankenstein and create my own little monster, to set free in their midst.

I spun my web and he fought against me for a while, but in the end he fell for every word and move I fed him. It was supposed to be fun. Now he’s here. Here of his own free will and he’s laid out in the dark at my side, where I said he belonged. Now I watch him sleep and think about the dance that brought us here and I feel like I’m spinning in my own web. And the more I struggle, the tighter the hold becomes.

**********

He’s muttering under his breath, soft and low, as he shuffles on the edge of sleep. I run my hand across chest and shoulders, pausing for a moment to stroke softly across the edge of fledgling stubble. Still a boy; on the edge of being a man – hard as steel and soft and malleable as wax. And it’s such a pretty mould. More mutterings and my hand hovers over him, uncertain for a moment where to rest, when his eyes flutter open and he looks around, fuzzily.

“Spike? Spike, you awake.” His voice is rough and heavy with too little sleep and my hand makes up its own mind and settles on his forehead, brushing the tangle of hair out of his eyes.

“Right here, pet. Been awake for a while. Didn’t really sleep much – vampire, remember. We’re used to being up and about during the night.” He’s struggling up onto his elbows, pushing his way out from the cocoon of blankets. Not sure if he’s realised that he’s naked under there. Not sure if he cares.

“Sure. Right. Creature of the night and all that. Kind of difficult to forget, the way you keep reminding me all the time. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. That was kind of rude – I mean, after everything.” He falters for a moment, like he’s only just realised what happened last night and I can almost see him walking through the stages in his head and, Bingo, there it is. That’s one of the things that fascinates me about him – how he’s like an open book one moment and the next, he does something unexpected. Like now. “So, I guess I’m really, really not a virgin anymore. Wow!” Then the smile is back. “Thank you. I mean for making it so……so memorable. I don’t suppose introducing 18 year old geeks to the joys of the big gay sex thing was really at the top of your ‘To Do’ list, when you came back to Sunnydale.”

I lick my lips and give him my very best leer. “You’d be surprised what’s on my ‘To Do’ list, pet.” I’m aiming for sultry, but something’s got lost in translation because he just looks at me for a moment and giggles. Cheeky brat; but the laughter’s infectious and I can’t help grinning back at him. At least he’s not freaking and trying to do a runner. He’s seated fully upright now, blankets pooled around his hips and he looks totally relaxed and I wonder if he’ll ever stop surprising me.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” There’s no hesitation in his voice, just a little look, like he’s not sure of the etiquette of the situation.

“Can always ask, pet.” And I wonder what the hell is coming.

“Did you always mean for this to happen. That we’d finish up here. Not here, here.” He looks round the warehouse and then back to my face. “Although I suppose I could mean here, here. But what I really mean is – here – like this? And did that make any sense at all?” The smile is back in his eyes and I can feel the tension in my back subside.

“You don’t ask the easy ones, do you, pet. Did I plan for this to happen, when I came back to Sunnydale? No. Did I plan to pull you towards me, pull you away from your little group? Yes. Told you before, pet; you made me curious. You weren’t like the rest of the do-gooders. You’re different from them, whether you liked it or not, and that interested me. Then, we seemed to be on the same wavelength and things just kind of progressed. Does that answer your question?” I hope to Christ he says 'yes', because I really don’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, I suppose. I know it’s been my decision, but I do wonder if I ever really had a choice. You know?” It’s the man who’s looking at me now. So focused and so fucking beautiful.

“Always been your choice. Wouldn’t have made you do anything you didn’t want. I’m evil, but I’m not stupid. Catch more flies with honey, than with vinegar. Something bloody Angelus kept forgetting. I wanted you to come to me, but I wasn’t going to force you, pet.”

“I think I knew that. But I just had to ask the question.” He’s got his knees drawn up, chin resting, and for a moment he looks so serious and far away. I give him a minute to himself, but the silence is oppressive and I need to change the subject.

So, what happens next, pet?” He looks confused for a moment, like he’s still lost in some inner monologue.

“What?”

“After your graduation. You’ve got to have plans? No more classes, no more homework – just one long summer, to do exactly what you want. Could make it last the rest of your life, or just live your life in those few weeks. I’m curious what you’ve got planned.”

“Oh, right. Road trip. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s something I’ve been thinking and talking about for so long, that I just have to do it. The gang will never let me live it down, if I don’t. I’ve never really been anywhere. Nowhere interesting, anyway. I want to see what’s out there – beyond the Hellmouth. I’ve got some money saved. Not much, but enough to see me through the summer, if I’m careful. Maybe pick up some casual work, if I have to. I want to stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon. I want to see the geysers go off in Yellowstone Park. I want to visit The Alamo. Spend days getting lost in Disneyland. Cross the Golden Gate Bridge. Go to Magic Mountain and ride the roller coasters. I want to visit Nashville and wallow in not having people complain about my taste in music. I want to stand on the Sky Deck on the Sears Tower and look down on Chicago, then take a train that will take me all the way to Grand Central Station, so I can imagine people dancing through the halls. It sounds crazy, but I just want to see….stuff.” He looks up at me and grins and it’s the boy who’s talking. “I kind of have a list.”

“Gathered that, pet.”

“It probably all sounds so stupid to you. Wanting to be a tourist in your own country. I suppose it’s silly, really. But I feel like I’ve been planning this forever.”

“Don’t think it’s silly at all, pet. Most people never travel beyond their front door. Don’t see beyond the end of their nose. You want to do something different and that’s just fine. Get your Hellmouth stuff done and dusted and then go: see, enjoy and remember. If I was you, I’d just get in my car and hit the road and the sights, right now, and leave the little do-gooders to get on with it. But I think that’s probably not on your agenda, is it, pet?”

“That transparent? And here’s me thinking that hanging out with a big bad vampire would make me more enigmatic. More difficult to read.”

“Oh you can be right difficult to read, pet. But you had that talent long before you ever met me.”

“Right. I think that’s a compliment – sort of. But you’re right; I have to help the gang, before anything else. Then I can think about the trip. Maybe I can send you postcards?”

“Maybe you can at that, pet.”

“Will you tell me about your travels? Tell me where you’ve been.” There’s a hundred dirty answers to that one, just hovering on the tip of my tongue, but he’s one step ahead of me. “You know what I mean. The places you’ve visited. I’m curious. Have you got favourites? Places you’d go back to, if you could. Or places you wouldn’t be seen dead in – and I can’t believe I actually said that!”

“I know what you mean, pet. And it’s hard. There’s so many places. So many memories. It’s difficult to untangle them sometimes.

“I’ve been in New York and watched them build the Empire State. I’ve danced in Speakeasies in Chicago during prohibition. I’ve stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower and drank champagne in the Moulin Rouge. I’ve smoked hashish in Turkey and in Amsterdam and in Berlin. Dru loved Berlin. So dark and decadent – like a bitter chocolate treat. I’ve danced and drank and killed in every city in Europe and never got tired of the buzz.

“We travelled the world, me and Dru. We savoured it. The tastes and the sounds and the textures of the new and exotic, and when it became old and stale, we just moved on. We learned to Tango in Buenos Aires and I can still hear the music in my head, today. That’s one dance we didn’t get to, pet. You should learn it. The Tango’s like a ritual and the preparation is part of the dance. Getting dressed in the right clothes, the right attitude, the right state of mind. Used to take Dru half the night to get ready. A bath with her special oils – cinnamon or sandalwood or jasmine. She’d get dressed in silk, in scarlet and black and I’d brush her hair ‘til it shimmered and shone and she was half hypnotised by the rhythm of the strokes. She’d pin a Gardenia behind her ear and then we’d go out and melt into the night and the music. Sometimes together and sometimes apart. But always to the Tango and sound of our own restless beat.

“See, pet. That’s what you want from your travels. Memories and tastes and sounds in your head that you can replay, again and again. Doesn’t matter if you’re riding that rollercoaster or following the swallows to the furthest tip of Africa. If you come home with those inside of you, then you know that you’ve travelled.

He’s got his arms wrapped tight around his knees and he’s watching me so intently. “I don’t think I’ll ever really travel – not like that.”

“’Course you will, pet. You don’t know what’s ‘round the corner. You’re just on the edge, right now – and it’s scary. Looks a long way down. But there’s only one way to learn how to fly – you need to jump off the ledge – follow the swallows and see where they take you.” Just talking to him makes images from my memory dance in front of my eyes and I have the urge to follow my own advice. I settle for lighting a fag instead, and realise that he’s started talking again, while I drifted.

“You know, I’ve never had anyone talk to me like that before. It’s strange, I listen to you and it’s like you’re writing poetry. You paint these pictures in my head and I can see them so clearly.” There’s no irony in his voice. He doesn’t know about William and I feel the web spin again.

“So go touch them, love. That’s all you have to do. Then you can paint some pictures of your own.”

The silence stretches out between us as I finish my smoke and he stares into space like he’s following some travelogue, only he can see. I hate to spoil the moment, but I can feel the sun getting higher and folk will be starting to miss him pretty soon.

“Pet. Much as I hate to break up the party, it’s time for you to go. Well past dawn outside and you’ve got stuff to do, plans to make.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise the time. You’re right, I need to run. I’ve got to get home and change, because nothing says you’ve stayed out all night quite like still being in a tux in daylight. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret, love. Get yourself off.”

I’ve never seen anyone dress so quickly. It’s like someone’s got last night’s slow striptease on fast rewind and all of a sudden he’s standing at the door.

“I really am sorry. I liked hearing about the places you've been.”

He can’t help apologising; it’s part of his conditioning. “Go, love. Go save the world and have a little white hat jamboree. The evil will still be around, when you’re finished.”

He starts to open the door, but just as I realise that I’m out of fags, he comes back towards me. One soft, sweet kiss and one whispered ‘thank you’ and he’s gone.

**********

It’s a funny thing, travelling. Sometimes you don’t even realise you’re doing it, ‘til you look back. At the time, you’re just there in the moment, drinking in the experience. My boy there – he thinks he’s never been anywhere and he’s got no idea how far he’s come.


	15. Perceptions 15: Teenage Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mayor goes Boom and the boys go Bang...

_**Perceptions 14: Teenage Kicks**_  
Warnings: Boy/Boy stuff  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)

 _While I've got a captive audience, I just thought I'd share my exciting news for today. Perceptions has been nominated in 3 categories at the Shadows & Dust Awards. Exotic - Best Slash, Moonlight - Best Romance, and Nummytreat - Best S/X. Whoo, Hoo, is very giddy. Thank you so much to the gorgeous [](http://pixel2817.livejournal.com/profile)[**pixel2817**](http://pixel2817.livejournal.com/) for nominating me - you are definitely on my Christmas list!!!_

 _Anyway on with the story...._

Nothing like a good scrap to get the blood flowing - and there was plenty of blood flowing today. Went to watch my boy graduate. Wouldn’t have missed it, even though he didn’t know I was there. Damned inconvenient, scheduling the ceremony in the middle of the afternoon, but the sewer system in this little rat hole will take you to most of the public buildings and a few of the private ones as well. You can tell the town was designed by demons. I’m surprised they don’t hand out little underground maps when you hit the town limits. Maybe they do and I just missed the memo. Don’t usually like using the sewers – too much riff raff and my Docs get all mucky in the shit, but I made an exception today. The things I do for that boy.

Got a prime spot just inside one of the storm drains. Had to fight off a couple of Hapulka demons to get the best view, but they gave up their positions after we’d had a nice little chat. Good to know there’s still a bit of respect in the underworld. Was surprised at the sheer amount of demonic activity around, but thinking on it, I really shouldn’t have been. Not every day you get to see an Ascension. Apparently, it’s quite the event in the social calendar this year – something to tell the spawn about in years to come. And the fact that there’ll be a bit of mayhem and carnage, and the odd body part flying about, well, I’m sure that’s just a bonus. Didn’t have the heart to tell them it wasn’t going to happen quite like they were expecting. Bit too much like telling someone whodunit, halfway through the film.

Saw him in a huddle with his little gang – the Slayer, the witch, even the cheerleader was there, but my boy was still the prettiest thing in the group, despite that god awful gown he was wearing. Mind you, I suppose the colour was meant to cover up most of the blood and all those other nasty little stains that tend to happen in Apocalypse season. I watched him talk to the group, giving them their instructions, and then move through the crowd, checking and talking. Motivating and making sure everyone knew what they had to do. Right little Henry the Fifth.

I had to laugh when the Mayor started his big ra ra speech, looking down on the kiddies, like an ‘all you can eat buffet’. He really had no idea what he was dealing with. When the mojo kicked in, and he started his big snake monster routine, and the happy meals started to fight back, it was bloody brilliant! Didn’t like my boy being in the front of the fight, but I know nothing was going to stop him. And that flame thrower thing was outstanding. Wouldn’t mind one myself, if it wasn’t for the whole highly flammable issue.

I was expecting the best part to be watching the school go boom. There’s really nothing like trashing an authority icon to make you feel part of the democratic process, but I’d forgotten about the eclipse – left my Almanac at home, this trip. Couldn’t believe it, when it got dark enough to get out there and get stuck in. Great fun. That was one very satisfying bout of violence – almost made up for having to sit through the bloody speeches at the start. Also meant I could keep an eye on the boy as well. I kept out of sight. Didn’t want him thinking I doubted his abilities. It’s his friends I didn’t trust. If one of them got into trouble, I knew damn fine he’d jump straight in. Had to make sure that didn’t happen – that he didn’t take any unnecessary risks. Even with all the planning, there was going to be casualties, but I made sure that nothing went to waste – it’s always good to keep hydrated when doing a bit of exercise. My main problem, the whole time, was trying not to run into Peaches. That was one family reunion I could definitely do without. I’m surprised he hasn’t realised I’m here. Just shows how removed from the demon community he really is – pussy whipped old ponce.

All in all, a very satisfying day on the Hellmouth. Good scrap, little bit of dinner on the side and the Slayer’s gang all right and tight. Not that I give a rat’s arse whether they survived or not, but I know the boy would be real cut up, if anything happened to them. I know they’ll all be out celebrating at the moment, but he promised to come by later and I know he’ll be here. Probably get a blow by blow account of the day’s action - and I’ll listen and nod and comment, like I’m hearing it all for the first time. Maybe I’m the ponce, but I won’t take his moment of glory away from him.

I’m just about finished my preparations, when I hear him coming down the stairs. This is probably our last night before his bloody Road Trip and I want to make it good for him. What was the word he used? Memorable. I want to make it memorable. I still wondered about a hotel, but it seems sort of fitting that we should stick with known territory. He knows what to expect here and it makes him relax - and I definitely want him relaxed. Footsteps getting closer now and the last of the candles are lit; there’s clean blankets on the mattress and there’s music stacked up and ready to go. The stage is set and here comes the other player.

“Wow you’ve been busy.” He comes out of the shadows and looks around, slowly, before grinning at me. “I love what you’ve done with the place. You’ve got a whole other career waiting for you in interior makeovers. Could even get your own show.”

“What can I say, I was bored, pet. Not much to do during the day, while you were out saving the world, so I thought I’d do a little clean up. Don’t always live in squalor, you know. I like my home comforts, when I can get them, and even when I can’t, I don’t like living in a pig sty. And if you tell anyone I’ve been cleaning, you really will live to regret it.” I give him my best menacing glare. “Are we clear!”

“Oh, definitely clear. Crystal Clear. Clear as a clear thing from clear land. See, this is me, being clear and cowed. Suitably cowed.” I’d be more convinced if he wasn’t grinning so hard it looks like his face could split. “Besides, big bad vamp like you; who’s to say anything if you like to do a bit of cleaning, now and again. You can’t be out creating mayhem all the time. Everyone needs a hobby to help them relax. So, do you quilt as well?”

He ducks a swipe to the head and dances away from me, still grinning. “See blondie. You’ve got to be quicker than that. You’re the one that taught me to move, remember.” He’s bouncing from foot to foot, like he’s been on the caffeine again, but I know it’s just the adrenaline high from the earlier fight

“I remember, brat. And since you brought it up, you should remember that a good teacher always keeps one or two moves to themselves. So if you think you can take me, step right up, be my guest.”

“Ooh, a challenge. When you put it so nicely, how could I say no.” He peels off his jacket and tosses it onto the pile of crates by the wall and then moves back towards me. “So, what does the winner get? I mean, if there’s a challenge, there has to be a prize.”

“Definitely, pet. There should be a prize and there should also be a forfeit.“ He’s looking at me intently, trying to work out the angles, but in the end the maths is simple: two people, one fight, one winner, one loser – easy. I mean, how could you work an angle into that!

“Okay. So what’s the prize, then?”

“Let’s say, that the winner gets to top.” His eyes go wide for a moment, and I think it’s more from the thought that I might actually let him do me, than the idea of having sex again. Then he’s nodding, enthusiastically.

“You’re on. And I suppose the forfeit is that the loser has to bottom.” Seems obvious, but I’m not an obvious kind of vamp.

“Not necessarily, pet. I think the winner should determine what the forfeit should be. Deal?”

He looks doubtful just for a moment and then stretches out his hand towards me. “Deal.” I go to shake his hand, when he starts to shift his weight, trying to take me unawares. But I’m not falling for that trick again and, as he moves, I slide my grasp up to his elbow and twist, using his own move against him and he goes down, hard.

“Never use the same trick twice, pet. You’ll get predictable.” He’s up again, immediately, and there’s the light of battle in his eyes. “First fall to me. Tell you what. Let’s make it the best of three, shall we. So, going to tell me about the big day? I take it the world didn’t end and all the little super friends are now hyped up on sugar and poncy coffee and self congratulations.” We’re circling slowly, watching for the moment, waiting for the opportunity. He’s dying to tell me about the day, but he can’t do the talking thing and the fighting thing, at the same time. Never said it would be a fair fight.

One punch, then another and he’s up against the wall, breathing hard, but it only seems to make him more determined. “Oh yeah, the plan worked, amazingly enough. There’s little bits of fried Mayor all over Sunnydale. Snyder got eaten, which I know I should feel bad about, but to be honest, I don’t.” Forward now, and Christ, he’s got a good right hook and I stagger for a moment. “We lost a few of the class, and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I have to believe that we could have lost everyone, if we hadn’t done what we did.” There’s a crack in his voice which distracts me, just for the moment, when a quick jab to the chin sends me straight to the floor.” Little git, I bloody taught him that. He backs away from me, his face a mixture of grief and anger and heat and, oh yeah, the fight is definitely the right thing. He’s got so much stuff to work through in his head and a decent spot of violence is as good a way as any.

I push myself up, stripping off my shirt as I stalk back towards him. Like I said, never mentioned anything about playing fair, and I can see his eyes raking down my body. I lick my lips and bare my teeth at him. “Come on then, pet. Let’s dance.”

There’s silence in the barren space, just the hitch of breath and the sound of rubber scratching across the concrete floor. I’d put some music on, but my boy’s so concentrated, and I think he’s finally found his own beat. If I’m not bloody careful, I could even lose this. I’m going through my mental record collection as I circle towards him, discarding the Pistols, Stiff Little Fingers, Generation X, until there it is. Fucking brilliant – The Undertones: Teenage Kicks. I turn up the volume in my head, rearrange the lyrics slightly and he doesn’t stand a bloody chance.

 _Teenage dreams so hard to beat_

Forward rush and one, two and retreat. He’s back getting reacquainted with the wall.

 _Every time he walks down the street_

Feint to one side, move to the other and round house kick. Shit, miss. He’s getting better.

 _Another boy in the neighbourhood_

Circle and back. Push and push. Another kick meets a packing crate, and now he’s fighting dirty. Good boy.

 _Wish he was mine, he looks so good._

Broken bits of wood and I’m acting nervous – looking for an out. And he’s hunting

 _I wanna hold you_

Come on little boy, that it, wave the nasty wood at the defenceless vampire. Come to Spike.

 _Wanna hold you tight_

He’s grinning like a madman, stalking me like prey

 _Yeah teenage kicks right through the night_

I start to stumble and just as he crows his victory, I push back up and forward and he’s so off balance.

 _I wanna hold you_

One final push and I sweep the legs from under him.

 _Wanna hold you tight_

And he’s flat on his back on the mattress, gasping for breath.

 _Yeah teenage kicks right through the night_.

“Never make assumptions, pet. Never celebrate, ‘til you’ve finished the kill. So, I think that means I win, don’t you? Two to one.” I walk over to my duster, fish out some fags and saunter back towards him, as I light up and inhale slowly. All hail the great god nicotine, just what you need after a great fight, or a great shag. First one, then the other. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, blondie. You win. I was crazy to think I could take you, one on one, just because we made some big demon go boom this afternoon. Oh and while we’re on the subject. Did you have a good time?”

“What?”

“This afternoon, at the school. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Hmm, not sure what you mean….” Bugger, he’s got that look on his face, like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I’ve just beat him, so why does it feel like I’m the one on the ropes. “Oh, bloody hell. Yes I had fun, pet. You didn’t really expect me to pass up the chance of a good spot of violence. Besides, I wanted to check how it all went, pet.” He’s still just staring at me, one eyebrow cocked quizzically, and now I know I’m a good teacher. “Alright I wanted to check you were okay, pet.”

“I know. Really I do, and I appreciate it. But what if Buffy had seen you? What would have happened then? Would you have fought?” He really looks like he’s stressing about this, so honesty seems the best policy.

“No idea, pet. Probably. But it didn’t happen, so there’s no point winding yourself up about it. The point is, the good guys won and the bad guy lost. So I don’t see the problem.” Obvious really, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“You know, you really are impossible to argue with, don’t you?”

I preen slightly in the face of the compliment. “Just another one of my many talents, pet. So let’s forget about what’s done and concentrate on the here and now. Believe you owe me a forfeit.” He’s still stretched out on the mattress, glaring up at me.

“Right, and can we just say ‘déjà vu’. I’m not really sure what you can ask for, that we haven’t already covered.” That’s my boy – so grown up, and yet, still so naïve.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a whole world of stuff we haven’t touched on, but I’m in a charitable mood. No need to get into the seamier side of things….” Yet . “I want you to get undressed, pet.” I can see the relief in his face and he bounces up off the mattress, all tension gone. This is easy. This is something he can do – no different to what he does every day. He starts to haul his T-Shirt over his head, when I grab hold of one hand and stop him mid flow. It’s just a gentle hold, but it’s enough. “You’re not listening, pet. Told you, I want you to undress. Not haul off your clothes like you’re in the school locker room. I want a performance.” The easy grin has disappeared in an instant and he’s looking unsure, back to being so young, and I run my hands up his arms and slowly down his spine – stepping stone across his bones and mapping every tension and worry. “Remember everything I’ve told you, love. Believe it. When we fought, I could tell you’ve found your music. Show me what you can hear. Show me how far you’ve travelled.”

He stands there for a moment, just staring at me, strong white teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he considers his next move. I run my thumb the length of his jaw and then down, tracing the contours of his mouth, smoothing out the worry marks. “Was so proud of you this afternoon, pet. They all did their part, but it was your plan and you saw it through. You showed them, love. Now you can show me.”

I’ve hardly touched him, but he’s already half hard. So damn responsive, to such a little scrap of attention, and I start to have happy thoughts about mass murder, starting with his family, when his hands start to move – skimming lightly up his T-Shirt – up and back, then up and pause – thumbs resting on nipples as he starts to tease. Breath heavy, as they peak under soft cotton and I’m breathing in time. Back down, then under – sliding over heated flesh, tracing patterns under the material, as he keeps his eyes fixed on mine. Both hands now, pushing up and up, and then the shirt is over his head and he drops it at my feet. I can’t help but pick it up and there’s a scent of sweet, warm boy, and lust, and just a hint of power, and it’s such a heady mix. His hands linger over his chest for a moment, continuing the tease and then drift down slowly, following the line of soft dark hair, ‘til he’s hovering over his fly. His eyes flick from my face, down to the front of my jeans and he can see the effect he’s having. He grins and, just as my attention moves back to his zip, he toes the back of one still-tied sneaker, and flicks it at me, and it’s only reflex reaction that stops me getting a shoe in the face. Naughty pet. I’m just about to say something, when the second sneaker follows in its wake. He’s not wearing any socks and I wonder what else he’s not wearing. He’s grinning at me, almost feral, as he restarts the movement across his crotch. Up and down, down and up, heel of his hand pressing cold metal into hard flesh. Breath hitching and I hold myself back from mimicking his movements. This is his show, his music. The brush of his hand against fading denim is hypnotic – pure percussion from his own one man band. He pulls on the zip, inch by drawn out inch, ‘til his cock springs free and he slides the jeans down his thighs and on down to his ankles. Then he’s free – no constriction, nothing to hide behind. Just one beautiful boy, shedding his skin and becoming a man, right in front of me. I feel like an alchemist – turning base metal into gold. But the gold has always been there, it just needed to be mined.

The space seems to stretch between us. He’s so close and so very far away - eyes glazed, like they’re lost in some inner landscape, and I need to bring him back to me.

“Well, pet. No socks and no underwear. What would the girlies say?”

He blinks, slowly - once, twice, and then he smiles and the tension eases like pressure out a valve. “They’d probably just say I needed to do some laundry.”

“Laundry can wait, pet. That was beautiful. And so are you. Told you I was proud of you, and it’s true.”

His eyes are heavy and the predatory look is back. “Going to show me how proud?” he whispers, as he slides forward and runs his hands up my sides and on over my shoulders, ‘til they come to rest at the base of my neck. Gentle nips up my collar bone and I know they’re leaving little red marks in their wake. Then he starts to suck on the side of my neck and I think I’m going to come right there in my jeans. Heavenly suction, soft at first, then harder and he knows exactly what he’s doing, as I can’t help but groan. One hand starts to snake down my arm, nails dragging against white skin. Then he’s got his palm hard against my zip and I think I might just faint. Zip down and every tooth has an answering bite on my neck and I stand there and let him do it. Don’t think I could move, if I tried. He peels back the denim and then there’s relief – air and freedom and one hot, hard hand, teasing. And there’s only one answer, as I take hold and grip him in return. Touch and tease and scrape – fingers and nails and we’re dancing in time – setting up the rhythm, harder, and stronger and faster. One last nibble on my neck and he looks me straight in the eyes. “Come with me, blondie.” Someone’s flicked a switch and I’m shuddering and he’s right there with me. Short, sharp breaths, bodies trembling in the aftershocks, then he’s got his fingers fixed in my hair and I lose myself in his kiss.

It feels like hours, but he finally needs to breath and pulls away slowly, peering at me through too long lashes and there’s just a gleam of mischief in his eyes. And I can’t help grinning back.

“Well, pet. Looks like you got to top, after all.”

He looks stunned for a moment, like the enormity of what he’s just done has suddenly hit him, and then his lips twitch and he starts to answer my grin. That’s all it takes to make him dissolve into a fit of the giggles and he collapses in a heap on the mattress. The laughter seems to fill the room, sending the candlelight flickering, lighting dark corners and sending things crawling back into their holes. I’m so focused on watching the scene that for a moment I don’t realise that the sound has begun to change and the darkness pushes back. The joy has morphed into something harsher – hiccups, mingled with sharp breaths and small disjointed sounds of pain. I sink down beside him and take hold of one of his hands, and he tries to curl away from me, hiding his distress. But my grip is strong and I hold on, trying to anchor him through this unexpected storm.

“Didn’t mean to upset you, pet. Thought you were bloody marvellous.” He just shakes his head and I’m not sure if it’s a gesture of disbelief, or a clue that I’m barking up the wrong tree. “What’s wrong, love? Tell Spike. You know you can tell me.” I can feel the pressure, where his nails are digging into my hand, but I don’t let go and I start to rub circles across his back with the other; soothing the child who, so suddenly, seems to have re-emerged.

His voice is low and rough with tears and I have to strain to hear the words. “Not you. Me. I saw them die. Larry and his team mates. They tried to help and I let them die. I talked them into helping and they died. And I’m still alive and I came here. And acted like a whore.” The tears are back and I slide round ‘til I’m facing him. I pull him forward, ‘til we’re touching knee to knee and I force his chin up.

“Not your fault, love. God knows, you’ve risked your life a thousand times, over the past few years. And the rest of the town has let you. They’re not so clueless. They know there are things in the dark. But as long as you lot go out and do their dirty work, they don’t have to face it. All you did was give your class a choice. You spelled out the danger, so they wouldn’t go in blind. And they chose to fight. You didn’t force them. It’s about choice again. It always comes back to choice. You said before that you had to believe you did the right thing, to stop more people dying. Believe it. It’s true.” I stop for a moment, to wipe up more tears and, for the first time in a century, I regret I never carry a handkerchief.

“I want to make one thing very clear to you. You, Are Not a Whore. You didn’t act like a whore. You haven’t got it in you. So I don’t want to hear you say that again. Don’t want you even thinking it. Understand me?” He won’t meet my eyes, but his breathing is less frantic, so I think I’m getting through. I hope I’m getting through. “You’ve just come off a big battle. The adrenaline was running and your blood was up and you were grieving for your casualties. That’s what happens in war. Then I provoked you and you reacted. You were stunning and unexpected and erotic as hell. And you gave yourself freely, pet. It was a gift. That’s about as far from being a whore as you can get. What we did, didn’t mock your losses. It celebrated the victory and the survival. You surprised me from the first time we met. But tonight, pet. Tonight, you amazed me. So no guilt. No beating yourself up. Mourning is fine, but don’t regret what you can’t change. And I know I wouldn’t change today for anything.”

The shaking has subsided but he’s still tense, like he can’t give himself permission to let go, and I think Spike’s medicine chest might be a key prop, for the rest of the night. I ease over to the closest crate – always keep the things you value most, close to you – but I keep hold of his hand as I go. Not having him bolting on me. Not now. Quick rummage in the box and I find one joint, ready rolled. There’s no test this time, no need to see how he copes on his own. This is just relaxation and comfort and I do the prep accordingly. Light and pull and just let it flow. That’s good stuff. I put the joint to his lips and hold my hand there, as he takes a pull, holding it in like I taught him, before letting it go. We stay like that for the longest time – inhale, hold and exhale. First me, then him and I feed his relaxation like a mother bird. He’s calmed down now. Breathing has evened out and I wonder if he could even describe his earlier actions. I draw him towards me and settle us both down on the soft fleece of the blankets. White skin curled around golden. Small around large. And I stroke gently across his belly as the smoke drifts and I let us drift with it.

“What’s in the cigarette?” His voice is soft, and sounds so very far away, and I know we’re back in calmer waters.

“Just some pot, love. Some cannabis. Remember you had it before. It’s nothing heavy, nothing for you to worry about. Just a little something to help you relax after the day you’ve had.” My hand is resting just on the inside of his thigh and I toy with the idea of having a little play, but the thing he needs now is to rest.

“Last night, when you talked about your travels. You said you’d smoked hashish in all those places. That’s different from cannabis?”

“No, love. Same thing, different form. And the effect is just as nice.”

“Okay, I just wondered. You’ve been to so many places: Amsterdam, Berlin. You said you went to Turkey. How weird is it to have a country named after a Thanksgiving dinner.” There’s a little giggle in his voice, as he hovers on the edge of sleep.

“I think the country was there a long time before your annual celebrations were ever thought of, love. It’s a beautiful country. You should go there, sometime. See the sights. Drink in the atmosphere. There’s so much history there, that it makes me feel like a child. Byzantium and the Ottoman Empire were born and died there. You can almost taste the history in the air and it’s soaked into every rock and stone. You should go to Istanbul and see the Sancta Sophia and stare at the dome, as it seems to hang there in space. You should go to Ankara and see the ruins of the Temple of Augustus and listen to the faithful called to prayer at the neighbouring Mosque. Take the time to go to Egypt and see the Pyramids and the temples. Go to Amsterdam and wander the flower markets and the canals. Go to Morocco and lose yourself in the back alleys of the Souk. Travel the Mediterranean and end up in Marseille, where you‘ll sit and drink Pastis and play boules and watch the world go by. Maybe you’ll go to Africa, pet. You could lose yourself there and never want to come back. There’s so much out there, love. So much for you to see. Do your ‘road trip’ and discover your own country. But remember there are worlds out there, which are far, far older and they’re just waiting for you to find them.”

I pause for moment, listening to his breathing and realise that he’s melted into sleep, while I talked. He’s young and he’s got so much ahead of him. So many battles to fight. So many wonders to see. Human life is so short and I want him to savour every moment. But for now, it’s enough that he’s here. Tomorrow can take care of itself and I pull him closer, soaking up his heat, and follow my boy into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teenage Kicks is by Northern Irish punk band The Undertones, who were formed in 1977ish and were fronted by the truly wonderful Feargal Sharkey. Teenage Kicks was the favourite song ever of John Peel - who was the best DJ in the UK, ever - and it was played at his funeral. Spike tweaked the lyrics slightly so that it was about a boy rather than a girl, but the sentiment remains the same.


	16. Perceptions 16: Ticket to Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander gets ready for his trip, and Spike smokes a lot.

_**Perceptions 15: Ticket to Ride**_  
Beta extraordinaire – [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[**thismaz**](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)  
Status: complete. (Flails and collapses in a heap…)

It’s been three days since I slept with my boy. Three days since he put on his show and amazed me. Three days since I held him while he broke down and grieved for his dead. Didn’t mind the days, they went past quick enough. He’s come to see me on every single one – talked about his trip, and his dreams, asked about my travels and the things I’d seen. The days have been fine – full of sweetness and laughter and passion, but he always had to leave and I didn’t get to hold him while he slept. It’s the nights which have been hell. I don’t like being alone. One hundred years of being with Dru proves that, but even when she would go off and play around, I never felt lonely. Not ‘til now. The California night time suddenly seems cold and grey and I pull my duster close and fight off a shiver. God, it's pathetic. Bloody master vampire, reduced to skulking in the shadows, spying on one dark eyed human, and dreaming of warmth and comfort and trust."

He wanted to stay through the nights, but the chickies have been clucking at him. Wanting some quality time, before he goes off on his adventure. Funny how they were never bothered while he was under their nose. They blindsided him with a whole list of plans: for movie nights and sleepovers and god knows what else. And he was caught. He wanted to be with me, but he didn’t want to disappoint his girls. It’s funny how he’s changed so much, how obvious it is to me, but they just haven’t noticed. So he’ll play the part for them and try to keep them happy. I wonder if they’ll ever realise it was just an act.

They’re with him just now, the Slayer and the little witch. Fluttering around him while he packs up his car. They’ve got their own wings to spread, and he knows they’ll be changing and growing while he’s gone. That’s why he’s already an adult and they’re still teetering on the edge. He understands that they’ll change. The cheerleader isn’t there, but he’s said his goodbyes to her privately. They’ve got over their troubles and made their peace. I know that made him happy, so I’m not going to grudge him the time away. But Red and the Slayer – they’ve had him for the last three nights, and they’re still hovering over him, worrying about his route and what he’s taking and Christ knows what else. I’ve had them tuned out while I was thinking about my boy, but their perky little voices are like water on my forehead and I can’t keep them out any longer.

“Xander, are you sure about driving at night? I mean, it’s not safe. What if you get lost? What if someone’s turned a road sign around and you miss your turning in the dark. What if you have a flat tyre? You can’t change a tyre in the dark, and if you break down, you can’t accept help from any strange truck drivers who just happens to be passing. They could be a vampire. Or a demon. A demon that’s good at impersonating truck drivers. What if….” I don’t think she took a single breath through all that. Definitely witchcraft.

“Wills, will you stop with the fretting. It’s going to be fine. I’ve already explained to you, I’m just going to drive tonight. The roads will be quieter and I can get some real distance under my belt – actually feel like I’m on my way, you know? The road is pretty straight, so I’m not going to miss my turn. Not yet, anyway. And I’ve got a spare tyre, and stakes and garlic and holy water and my axe. So if some truck driving Good Samaritan, turns into an evil, Xander munching fiend, then I’ll deal with it. Not that that’s going to happen, but if it does, I’ll deal. Okay? I’ve been living on the Hellmouth for eighteen years and fighting the beasties for the last three. I’m a big boy. But I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to see the sights. See what this big country is all about, before I settle back into a life of pizza delivery and burger flipping.” He’s talking so lightly, but I know that’s a real fear – that he’ll come back to this hell hole and sink back down to the level of his damn family. Well it’s not bloody happening. Not if I have anything to say about it. He’s anything but mediocre, and I’m not having him settle for some low rent, dead end existence. Not when there’s so much out there. I can feel myself start to shift as I contemplate the options. I could really do with a fag, but that might just draw a little too much attention, and I’m quite content in the shadows, for now. I pull myself out of my stew, and this time it’s the Slayer who’s talking at him.

“It’s okay, Xand. She’s been on the Mochas all day, stressing about you going. I’m going to cut off her caffeine supply so she doesn’t browbeat Oz into following you to check you’re okay. Go. Have fun. Try not to get dead.”

He’s grinning at her, all goofy and looking like he isn’t old enough to have a driving licence. “Thanks Buff, I’ll do that.” He’s giving her a hug and she hugs him right back, and I want to tell her to get her hands off the merchandise - that it’s not up for grabs. She had her chance. She’s gazing up at him and I wonder how someone so tiny can be so damn lethal.

“So, you’re all tooled up. You’ve got a full tank of gas. What about clothes? Pants, shirts, socks. Ooh, have you got enough changes of underwear!” Red and the boy just stare at her and then look at each other, “And I really shouldn’t be asking you that, should I? Sorry. I should just keep my nose out of your underwear. And I think I’ll just stop now. Maybe I can find something to slay instead.” She’s looking round hopefully, like some demon might appear to distract from the moment. But it looks like her luck is right out tonight.

There’s silence for a moment, and I watch the Slayer squirm. I can see my boy is enjoying it, just a little bit too much, before he finally decides to put her out of her misery. “Buffy, are you sure you haven’t been right there with Will on the happy-clappy caffeine trail?” The Slayer looks over to the witch for support, but just gets a grin in return. Nope, no help there. Before she can drop herself in it any further, my boy’s at it again. “I’ve told you, I’m fine. See, I had it all planned - a checklist in my head, and all the little boxes are ticked: gas, weapons, clothes, underwear, cash, phone card, camera, maps, address book, shades, soda, Twinkies, chips and music. See, I’m good. I don’t think I’ve ever been this organised in my life. Giles would be proud of me. And talking of the great tweed one, I thought he’d be here by now. You know, to make sure I actually go.”

I can see the Slayer brightening up. This is obviously something she can answer. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here. He phoned me just as I was leaving the house. Something came up at the last minute, but he swore he’d get here as soon as he could. You do know you’re going to get the same questions and lecture from him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s cool. It’s not like him to be late so, whatever’s come up, it must be pretty big.” I can almost see the innuendo flicker across his face. He really is such a good student. But the girls are oblivious, and just speculate worriedly about possible Hellmouthy badness. And right on cue, here’s the man himself. Bloody hell, that car really is a wreck – nought to fifty in about an hour and a half – bit like the wanker driving it. He gets out of the car, looking anxious and breathless, and the girlies flutter towards him like moths, bombarding him with questions.

“Giles, what’s happened?" "Giles, do I need to go and kill something?" "Giles, do we need to do some research....?” and on and on and on, and I’m just thinking – Giles, why are you still dressed like a librarian? You’re an unemployed librarian. I know he’s got a looser side and I wonder how long it’ll take to emerge, now he doesn’t have to be all hidebound and stuffy. I wonder what the chickies will think about it, when it does.

My boy stands back from the gaggle and watches the scene, ‘til the chirping stops and the Watcher catches his eye and finally remembers why they’re all there. “So, Xander. Are you all ready to go? Do you have everything you need?” He’s about to start the same litany of questions when he’s interrupted mid flow.

“I’m fine Giles, honest. I’ve already recited the list to these two, half a dozen times. I really should just have put it all on tape. But thank you for asking.” He grins at the older man and gets a warm smile in return. Too warm for my liking. The sooner he gets out of this place the better. “So what’s the what? Why the big fluster?”

“What? Oh yes. Well. I was just getting ready to leave the apartment, when someone slipped a note under my door. Just a few lines saying there was a nest near the Kubelik tomb, over in the north corner of Restfield. Also a mention of a possible sacrifice. It was signed ‘A Friend’. I had quick look at some of the more accessible texts, but there’s nothing obvious on the horizon, but I must admit that it does worry me somewhat.”

“Okay then, this sounds serious. Or, it could be a trap. Anyway, avengers away. Let’s go and sort out the bad guys.” My boy dumps the last of his stuff in the back of the car and starts to pull out his weapons, when the Slayer gets right in his personal space.

“Oh no you don’t. We’ll go. The Hellmouth is not going to get in the way of your road trip. If you stay tonight, something else will come up tomorrow and you’ll never get away. Or you’ll go charging in, trying to rescue someone and get hurt, and again you’ll never get away. So go. See the country for the rest of us, and come back and tell us stories. Okay?” He’s looking mulish, but for once I agree with the Slayer, and I realise that perhaps I’ve been a little bit hard on her. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to help her, it’s just that she can’t bear the thought of him being hurt on her watch. I can understand that. Now the Redhead, she’s a different kettle of spells all together. I’m hoping this little separation will put some space between them. I think back to when I first saw them together, when they were creeping about, and she bothered me right back then. Now she just makes me shiver. I look back to the Slayer and she’s winning the staring contest, and my boy finally backs down. For once.

“Okay, Buff. You’d better go. That note didn’t say when the sacrifice might happen, or even what’s being sacrificed. So go. Get your slay on and show them how it’s done.”

The Watcher’s looking distractedly at his watch, which is kind of appropriate. “I hate to break up your goodbyes, but Xander’s right. We’d better go.” He extends his hand and offers up a manly handshake and the boy hesitates, just for a moment, before clasping it tightly. I think he might have wanted a hug, or something, but just was well the bloody Watcher didn’t try anything. “Take care, Xander, and have a wonderful trip”

“Thanks Giles, I will. Keep an eye on these two for me and watch their sugar intake, or you’ll be sorry.” He holds the hand for a moment and then lets go abruptly, before landing an armful of Slayer. “Bye Buff. You take care of yourself and no dying while I’m away. I’ll see you in a couple of months.” He runs a finger across her cheek, wipes off one salty tear and kisses her gently on the forehead, before turning to the witch. “Hey there, Wills. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Have a great summer and I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll send you lots of postcards. Okay?” Suddenly he’s got an overwrought witch to deal with and I can just hear her whispering under her breath as she clings to him, and my skin starts to crawl. If she’s doing mojo, there’ll be hell to pay, possibly literally. She pulls away and looks him right in the eye. “Damn straight, you’ll send postcards. I expect one a week, minimum. Or I’ll send Buffy out to hunt you down.”

One final hug and he pushes her back towards the others. “Aye, aye, captain. Now go. There’s evil afoot. Time to get slaying.” They clamber into the Watcher’s car, and he stares after them as the car pulls away and putters down the road towards the dead end of town. Right then. That’s my cue, and I light up a fag and saunter up behind him.

  
I’m just about to say something when he seems to come back to himself, and turns back to his car and looks at it, like he’s not sure what to do next. He’s got his hands deep in his pockets and I can see the fingers bunch and release through the thin material. “Hey, Spike. I was wondering if you’d show.” He turns round, just a little uncertain, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “I suppose I was hoping you’d show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, pet. Anyway, how did you know I was there? Not like you could see me in your wing mirror or nothing.”

He rocks back on heels, and now the smile is there, full force. “Oh, please. We’ve just spend the last couple of weeks talking about battle plans and tactics and how to confuse the enemy. Don’t tell me that note didn’t come from you, because I really won’t believe you. I mean, ‘A Friend’. How cheesy is that? Did you cut out the letters from the newspaper to make the note more anonymous, or is that only for when you kidnap someone? Not that I’m accusing you of kidnapping, because I’m sure you don’t. But if you did, I’m sure that’s how you’d do it. And I think I’ve had too much caffeine as well.” He stops, and looks up at me ruefully, “So am I right?”

“Right on target, pet. Wanted a bit of quality time and I knew the girlies would be hanging around, ‘til they couldn’t see your tail lights anymore. Either that, or they’d talk you out of going. Just thought I’d give them a little distraction, is all. Anyway, if you knew it was a diversion, why’d you offer to help them?” Sometimes I really don’t understand how his mind works.

“Because that’s what they’d expect, blondie.” I can almost see the ‘Duh’ in his head. “I offer, and they turn me down and go off and do what they need to do. That’s the way it works. Except that this time, there won’t be anything there, ‘to do’. Actually, I feel kind of bad for Buff - she gets kind of cranky if she misses out on a decent slay. I hope she finds something to hurt, or Giles is going to be in a world of pain at the next training session.”

“I’m sure he’ll cope, love. Anyway, if you’re going to lie convincingly, always put in a little bit of truth. There is a nest over that side of Restfield. Just babies, but it’ll give the Slayer something to do. By the time she’s realised there’s no sacrifice, hopefully she’ll have worked off her stress.

“So at the risk of you having to repeat yourself, are you set? Got everything you need to meet the big bad world?” I’m looking at his stuff, scattered on the car seats - there’s only two small bags and a box of snacks, and I wonder if that’s all he owns.

“Oh yeah. I’m sure you heard me talking to the girls. I’ve gone over the list a thousand times, and everything is set and ready to go.” He pauses for a moment, looking around and then back at my face. “You know it’s weird. I’ve been planning this for so long, and now that the moment’s actually here, I don’t really know what I’m doing. If I’d left two weeks ago, I’m not sure I’d be feeling like this.” His hands are out of his pockets and he’s scratching absently over his neck, like he can still feel the bruises somewhere under his skin. I reckon most of his real bruises are on the inside. I’m trying to come up with a suitable answer, when he moves forward, slowly. Like he’s not sure of his welcome. “Going to miss you, blondie. I always knew the world wasn’t black and white, but I don’t think I really realised, just how many shades of grey there were - and just how enticing some of them could be.” He brushes one finger along the line of my jaw and there’s so much heat in one small touch. “I don’t even know what I can say about these last weeks, but I wouldn’t change them for anything.”

I push my fingers gently through his tangled hair and he curls into my hand. I think he’s forgotten that we’re right out here in the open. I’m not sure that he cares right now. “Sshh, pet. You’re fine. You’re such a good student – you learn so beautifully.” I pull him towards me, and he’s obviously expecting the inevitable goodbye kiss. The punctuation to this little adventure and I don’t want to disappoint him. And it’s just as long and sweet and hot as I could have hoped, and I feel it linger like honey on my lips, long after he comes up for air. I push him back towards the car and pull out my fags. “Go on. You’d better get going, or the gang will be back and you’ll still be standing here. Then you’ll never get away.” He grins at me and straightens his back, suddenly full of resolve and anticipation.

“Okay. You’re right. Got to start somewhere, so it might as well be with leaving this place.” He slides into the driver’s seat and puts the key in the ignition before turning back towards me. “Will I see you again?” He’s holding his breath, like he’s scared of what he might hear.

“Oh, I think you can count on that, pet. I’m really pretty hard to get rid of. Now off you go.” He turns back in his seat and turns the key, ready for the off, on his great adventure. And the engine turns and whines and shudders. And stops. And then there’s silence. He tries again and there’s just the scrape of metal against metal and the same disturbing screeching. But no life. No comforting purr of mechanics in motion. Zilch, nada. Houston, I think we have a problem.

“Something wrong, pet?”

“I think you could say that. It won’t start. Why won’t it start? It started fine this morning. I filled it up with gas and I didn’t imagine driving across town to the gas station and back. So how the hell can it not be working now? Shit, it’s the Hellmouth, I just know it. It doesn’t want me to go. I knew it was too good to be true, that I was actually going to get out of here. It’s like fly paper – once you’re stuck, there’s no escape.” He’s slumped over the wheel, muttering to himself, and I finish my fag and amble over to him.

“Why don’t you let me try, pet? See if a different touch will make a difference.” He’s looking at me, incredulous.

“What? You got some magic car-starting spell up your sleeve or something? I really can’t believe this. Actually I can believe this. If shit is going to happen, it’s going to happen to me.” He’s still muttering as he slides out of the seat and hands over the key, and I settle down on the warm leather. One turn, then another, but there’s still nothing and he’s standing scowling at the car, like it’s some kind of demon he wants to kill.

“Suppose you’d better check under the bonnet, pet. Might be something obvious there.” I shift out of the car, but he just stands there staring at me.

“Under the what?”

“Under the bonnet.” I sigh and bite down a tirade about bloody Americanisms. “The hood, pet. You should probably look under the hood.”

“Oh, right, why didn’t you just say that?” He’s grumbling quietly as he pops the hood and stands there staring at the wiring, poking and prodding from time to time. ”Well, nothing looks out of place.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for, pet?” I feel I have to ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Not a damn clue. It’s just a bunch of metal and wires and stuff. I mean, you put gas in the tank and turn the key. That’s about as far as my car maintenance goes.”

“I suppose you’ll have to put it into the shop, to see if a mechanic can find the fault. I’m sure it’ll be something simple. Maybe just take a day or so to fix. Although, if it’s something serious, who knows how long it will take. Mechanics can be right buggers. Always finding something else that needs tweaking, just when you think you’re going to get your wheels back. Remember this one time, I put the DeSoto in for a quick once over. Didn’t get it back for a month.”

“A month.” I’d forgotten how high his voice could get when he’s wound up. “I can’t afford to leave the car for a month. Even a couple of days are going to put my schedule right off. They’re opening a new ride at Magic Mountain and I’ve timed it to get there for the opening. Shit! I knew it was all too good to be true. I’m never going to get away from here and the girls are going to tut and pat my arm and say never mind. And I couldn’t bear it. Not after everything else.” He’s getting so worked up and as I grind my fag under the heel of my Docs, he starts throwing bags out of the car, onto the ground, and I stand there and watch, intently. “Right. If I can’t drive out of here, then I’ll walk. But I’m not staying here all summer. It’s not as if I’ve got anywhere to stay anyway. Dear old Dad has rented out my room to my uncle, so there’s no room at the inn here.” He back in the front of the car now and some tapes and soda and Twinkies land on the ground next to the bags.

“You could stay with your little friends, pet. I’m sure they’d be happy to give you a bunk for a couple of months.”

“Oh yeah, there’s an enticing prospect. Don’t get me wrong, I love Buffy and Wills, but the idea of spending the summer listening to them talk about college and boys and giggling over Cosmo quizzes, is not my idea of fun. So, if I can’t drive, I’ll hitch.” He’s got one bag over his right shoulder and he’s stuffing the snack food into the other before it goes over his left. Right, time to nip this little farce right in the bud.

“You, are not hitching anywhere, pet. It’s not bloody safe. Not on the Hellmouth, and not anywhere else. You hear me?”

“Well what do you suggest then, blondie? You going to conjure up a magic carpet or something, because otherwise I really don’t see any other option.”

“It’s not a magic carpet, but I think I can offer you a pretty smooth ride.” I can’t help leering at him and he stares at me for a moment, impassive, until the innuendo slides under his defences and he starts to laugh.

“Okay, go on. Surprise me.”

I rummage in the pocket on my duster, pushing past my lighter and other bits and bobs, ‘til my hand wraps round my prize, and I pull out a bunch of keys and wave them at him. “Could be the answer to your prayers, pet. I was going to leave town tonight, myself. Could give you a ride, if you like.”

I can see the indecision warring in his face. Get in a car with the big bad vampire, or stay in this hell hole and get narked at by the chickies all summer. There’s really no contest and he knows it.

“You’re offering to give me a ride? I thought you were staying in Sunnydale for another week. You said there was a big poker game running in Willy’s back room and you thought you’d clean up. So, isn’t that happening anymore?

“It’s still happening, pet. But I decided I didn’t like the class of player putting their name down. Load of riff raff, I really didn’t want to be associated with. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, you know?”

“Okay, right. I suppose that makes sense. Fine upstanding member of the community like you, doesn’t want to be mingling with the great unwashed.” Cheeky brat. “So you’re leaving tonight as well – which brings me back to the whole offer of a ride deal. What if you’re going in the opposite direction from me? What happens if I want to stop somewhere and you don’t? How will I get back, when you go off to wherever it is you’re going?” All good questions.

“Wasn’t really going anywhere in particular, pet. Just thought I’d drive around a bit. Not much to keep me on the Hellmouth now, is there. Not after today. Let’s say, I’ll get you as far as that rollercoaster of yours. Then, if we’re going separate ways, I’ll make sure you’ve got the wheels to carry on. Bloke builds up a lot of contacts over a century. Sure I can pull in a favour or two if I need to.” I can see he wants to argue, but knows that there really isn’t a choice.

“Okay. Deal. You’ll take me where I want to go, and you’ll help me find a car when we split up?”

“That’s right, pet.”

“And you won’t eat me.” There’s a whole world of things I could say to that, but I leave it for now.

“Not unless you want me to, pet. Scouts honour. And before you say anything, no I wasn’t a Scout, but I’ve eaten enough of them over the years to know the code. Kind of by osmosis, you know.”

“And, I so didn’t need to know that. Right then, where’s this chariot of yours. Like you said, if we hang about too long, the gang will be back. And oh god, I can’t just leave the car sitting here. They’ll know I haven’t left, and if they don’t find me, they’ll think something has happened, which obviously it has. But not what they think, and then when they get postcards, they’ll totally freak and think I’ve been kidnapped by some weird postcard sending demon. And if I don’t send postcards, they’ll think I’m dead. So either way, we’ve got to do something about the car.” I think he and the witch went to the same breath control classes.

“Already thought about that, pet. I’ll go and get the DeSoto and I’ll tow your car under cover. That Crombec demon who fixed up my wheels after the South American trip, he’ll keep it right and tight ‘til you’re ready to pick it up again. The Slayer won’t even know it’s still in Sunnydale.”

“Right, that sounds like a plan. So where’s your car?”

“Just round the corner, pet. Didn’t want to park it in plain view, in case the Slayer recognised it. Give me two minutes and I’ll be right back.” He’s nodding and I rub my hand across his neck, pulling gently on the hair curled at the bottom. “Don’t worry, love. It’ll be fine.” He looks up and smiles and I take my cue to turn away and go and get my car. Good job he can’t see just how big my grin is right now.

Good as my word, I’m back in two minutes and we’ve got the tow rope fixed up, quick as you like. While I’m doing the necessary, he’s pitching his bags and the rest of his stuff into the back of the DeSoto and I wonder if he really realises what he’s doing. There’s a pile of tapes and CD’s sitting on the front seat and I can see we’re going to have to have a little chat about who controls the music in this car, but that’s a conversation for down the line.

Wasn’t kidding when I said he should get moving before the Slayer comes back to check if he’s gone, so I hustle him behind the wheel of his heap of crap and get my baby fired up and away. Ten minutes later we’re pulling through the front of a derelict building, and then on through to a fully working garage that you wouldn’t know was there. Right then, time to see a demon about a dog, and I slide out, and look back at the boy, who’s out and hovering between the two cars.

“If you’re feeling peckish, love, there’s some stuff in a paper bag in the glove box. Help yourself while I sort things out with your car. I saunter over to the grey skinned demon, who’s sitting stripping down an engine, and start to do the deal. I’ve got one eye back on my boy and I can see him plonk himself down in the passenger seat, intent on looking for the goodies. Knew that would distract him – feed him snacks and he’ll follow you anywhere. He’s rummaging through the detritus in the car, pushing aside empty bottles and crumpled fag packets, ‘til he hauls a brown paper bag out of the mess and starts to eye up the contents. I hand over a pile of notes to the garage owner, to seal the deal and then wander back towards the DeSoto, just as the boy backs out of the car, clutching his prize, and I can’t help admiring that pert little arse. He waves the bag at me triumphantly and his face is just glowing. All of a sudden he looks about twelve, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

“Brownies. You’ve got brownies. So, not only do you clean, which of course we don’t talk about, but you also bake. Wow, that’s not in the Watchers diaries. You’ve got hidden depths, Spike. Definitely hidden depths.”

“Don’t be cheeky, pet. ‘Course I don’t bake. Know a family of Ulian demons, and they’ve got the best bakery in Sunnydale. It’s just not visible to the human population, a bit like this place, really. Thinking about it, I should have bought some of their Danish pastries. I know you like those.” He’s busy getting stuck into the first brownie, savouring every mouthful and he’s only listening to me with half an ear. But as I walk round to the driver’s side, he stops and swallows and looks at me.

“Wait a minute. Just wait right there. I’m starting to smell something here, and it’s not the chocolate on these brownies. I know you’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, but I really can’t see you buying a jumbo bag of brownies for the road. Couple of bottles of Jack and a carton of cigarettes – yes. Brownies – no. _‘And if you’d thought, you’d have bought some Danish pastries as well, ‘because you know I like them’…_. I know this is probably a stupid question, but I’m going to ask it anyway, because you know how I need things spelled out to me.” Bugger. “Spike, did you, by any chance, and I’ll apologise up front if I’m wrong, but did you sabotage my car?”

Bollocks. “Don’t know what you mean, pet.” That’s the ticket. Stall for time. I wonder if I can distract him if I start a little groin action? I start to slink around the front of the car, eyeing him from top to toe like he’s a big chocolate brownie of my own, and just for a moment he’s got that deer in the headlights look. Then it’s gone.

“Oh no you don’t. Just stop right there. And keep your evil vampire hands to yourself. I’m serious, Spike. I want an answer.”

Shit. Well it was worth a try. Time for another tack. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sabotage, pet. That’s a strong word.”

“Spike!”

“Okay. I might have given it a little nudge. Nothing permanent. Just enough, so it wouldn’t work.”

“And that differs from the regular definition of sabotage, in what way, exactly?”

“Well, I wasn’t looking to do any lasting damage, pet. Sabotage sounds kind of malicious. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not malicious.”

“Right then. Malice aside, why did you sabotage my car?” I’m just about to interrupt when he holds up his hands – he’s still got half a brownie in one of them. “Okay, I’ll find another word. Hang on, I know.” He dives back into the car and starts rummaging through one of his bags with his free hand. Then he’s back, moving towards me and waving a small book under my nose.

“A thesaurus? You’re taking a bloody thesaurus on your trip?” I don’t think I’ll ever work out what makes him tick.”

“Well, I always seem to get stuck for the right word in moments of stress, so I thought I’d be prepared.” Of course, why didn’t I think of that?

“Because of course, in moments of extreme stress, you’re going to have time fish out a reference book and look up just the right word for the occasion.” Can’t believe I said that with a straight face.

“Well, no. And there’s no need to get with the mocking, just because I’m trying to broaden my vocabulary. And that’s so not the point. And you’re just trying to change the subject. I was ranting about you sabotaging my car, but as you seem mysteriously hurt by the use of the word ‘sabotage’, I was going to look for a less upsetting word, because god knows, I don’t want to upset the poor sensitive vampire.” He takes another big bite of his brownie and he’s flicking through the book, ‘til he finds the right page and starts to trace down with his finger, leaving a trail of chocolate in his wake. “Gosh, I don’t think I’ve heard of half of these words, never mind know how to use them. Okay, this will do.” He swallows his Brownie and licks his fingers and I stifle a groan. Little git, he knows exactly what he’s doing. I can still see bits of chocolate clinging to his thumb and forefinger and I imagine wrapping my tongue around them and sucking gently. “Spike, are you listening to me, at all.” He’s looking at me so intensely, and god, he’s so damn cute when he’s all riled up. “Spike, why did you incapacitate my car?”

“Incapacitate, pet?”

“Well, what do you want me to say – cripple, damage, disrupt, vitiate…..” He’s stabbing at the pages with chocolaty fingers as he reads off every word. "There’s only so many words to describe it. I mean, if none of those words suit your delicate sensibilities, maybe we should try another language. I’m sure I could find the right word in French – if I could speak French. Or maybe Spanish or Greek or Hungarian. Or why don’t we get really exotic – what about Eskimo, or Navajo, or Hopi – hell, I’d go through the whole Indian nation, if I thought it would help.

“I think the politically correct term is Native American, pet.”

“Politically correct. You’re talking to me about politically correct! Please, Spike. You know how much this trip meant to me. I know you’re offering to give me a lift, but why would you put me through all this crap? Why did you draw it out for so long, pretending to help with the car, when you knew damn fine it wasn’t going to work? Put me out of my misery – just tell me why?”

He’s past being angry and now sounds so lost, and I just feel guilty. I really didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t think he’d get so upset, so I suppose I’m going to have to be honest. “Didn’t want to let you go, pet. Thought that I could. That we’d have a nice few weeks and that’d be the end of it. But it’s not. Not for me. And I don’t think for you either, love. Tell me I’m wrong.” He’s got one hand curled round his waist and the other, complete with chocolate smudges, is pulling at a loose thread on the bottom of his shirt. It’s obviously fascinating, because he can’t take his eyes off it, and in one sinking moment, I realise that I’ve probably blown it. “Pet? Xander, love. Talk to me. Please?” He looks up slowly and there’s such a mixture of pain and confusion that I wish I’d never started the whole stupid plan.

His voice is so low; I can hardly make out the words. “No, you’re not wrong. These last weeks, the way you made me feel. I can’t even begin to describe it. Wanted. Listened to. Respected. Valued. Loved. But you knew I was going on this trip and you listened and made suggestions, but you never once said that you didn’t want me to go. I don’t understand, why didn’t you say something.”

“Because I’m stupid, love. Because I’m used to getting my own way. Because I’m not used to taking other people’s feelings into consideration. See, with Dru, I did all the planning - decided where we would go, when we’d do it, and she’d just come along for the ride. Sure, she’d sometimes take it into her head to go somewhere – like with the pygmies, remember. But she’d hardly ever, actually, do anything off her own bat. She left all the work to me and I just did it, or I got a minion to do it if we had any around. I’m sorry, pet. I didn’t think. I didn’t want you to go, so I found a way to stop you from leaving me behind. Suppose I didn’t think you’d come if I asked, so I decided to change the odds a bit. It seemed like a good plan, at the time, but you know me and my plans. Once I started, I got caught up in it. Had to see it through. If your car really had broken down, you’d have expected me to be sympathetic – to help or something. So I had to pretend, so you’d believe it really was knackered, and then you’d accept my offer. It was a stupid plan. I didn’t mean to hurt you, love. I saw you were getting upset, but I’d gone too far and I couldn’t stop. It’s always been my biggest problem – getting caught up in my own stupid plans. I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what else to say. I’m a demon, pet. I’m not good at this touchy, feely stuff.”

  
“Oh you do just fine on the touchy stuff.” There’s a lighter tone in his voice and I start to relax, but he’s not finished yet. “Okay, I understand. Big bad vampire control freak. I get that. You sure you’re not a Virgo?”

“Long time since I was a Virgo, pet.” I run one hand suggestively down the front of my jeans and give a little shimmy, and get a genuine grin in return. Result.

“You know what I mean. But I’m not Dru. You can’t treat me as if I am. You’re the one who’s always talking about choices. But you took away my choice, my options, and expected me just to fall in line. You say I’m a good student and you taught me better than that. I’ve got plans and thoughts and opinions and I will be listened to. I’m not going to exchange one set of wallpaper for another. So you either stop with this bullshit, or this is over before it’s even started.”

“Right, pet. Hear you loud and clear. You’ll never be wallpaper, pet. More like the prettiest ornament in the room.”

“Yeah, well, just remember I need dusting occasionally.”

“I can do that. Remember, I clean. Dab hand with the feather duster – get into all your nooks and crannies.” That’s it, he’s off and laughing and I don’t think I’ve heard anything quite that beautiful in my life.

“So, love. Are we okay? The other night you asked me to ‘come with you’. So now, will you come with me? Will you let me share your adventure for a while? We might not get to Bueno Aires, love – but I still want to teach you to Tango. If you’ll let me.”

He’s smiling, shyly. Peering at me through those ridiculous lashes. “I’d like that. One thing, though. What did you do to my car?”

“Oh right, your car. Nicked the rotor button, pet. It’s hidden under the distributor cap, so you wouldn’t notice it was missing. That’s why the engine wouldn’t start.” I fish in the pocket of my duster and pull out the offending car part. “There’s the little bugger. So small and so essential. It’s amazing how it’s the things people overlook, that sometimes play the most important roles, don’t you think.”

“Now you’re getting philosophical. I think it must be time for another brownie.” He grabs the bag and starts to work his way through another little slice of chocolate heaven and I can’t help but watch him and enjoy. Then he’s staring me again, and chewing fast like he wants to talk and I wonder why his brain always seems to start working while he’s eating chocolate. “Spike, these brownies. Do you know what they put in them? There’s a flavour under the chocolate, that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“Don’t know the recipe, love. It’s a closely guarded secret. But they do a little bit of customisation for special clients. Spike’s special ingredient, you could say.” He takes another enormous bite and chews thoughtfully, before the light bulb goes off in his head and he stares at me with huge eyes. “Spike’s special ingredient – Spike’s brownies. You mean you spiked the brownies? Is nothing sacred? You mucked around with my chocolate. I can just about forgive the car, but this is just sacrilege. What is it about you and drugs, anyway? First the opium, then the cannabis, and then there was all the talk about hash. So what’s the latest cocktail?”

“No need to get worked up, pet. It’s just a little bit more cannabis. It goes down a treat with the chocolate. Enhances the experience, you might say.

“Easy for you to say, it doesn’t seem to affect you.”

“Right, love. So you won’t be wanting any more of these, then,” and I start to pull the bag of goodies away from him, when he pulls it back sharply.

“Not so fast, mister. These are here and they’re mine and they’re not going anywhere, and I’m just making a point for future reference, okay.

“Sure thing, pet. Anything you say.”

He continues to chew on the treat and he’s obviously still working things through in his head. “You know I could just ask you to put the rotor button back on, and head off like I’d planned. That’s what I should do. That’s the sensible thing to do.”

“You could, love. And it is. Remember, it’s your choice.”

“And don’t your forget it. And if I chose to hitch a ride with an annoying, mouthy demon with bad hair, what does that say about me? What would the gang say about me?”

“I’d say you had good taste in company and no taste in hairstyles. They’d say you were mad, or possessed, or thralled, or something. They wouldn’t think that you could possibly want to come.”

“So that leaves me having to lie to them.”

“Your call, pet.”

“My call.” He runs his hand across the roof of the DeSoto, worrying at one of the small flecks of paint that’s threatening to come away, and I want to tell him to stop, but I don’t want to interrupt him now. “Okay, my call is that it’s my decision. My trip. My life. If Buffy can date Deadboy, all this time, and Wills can go out with a werewolf guitarist, then why the hell can’t I have some interesting times, for a change? I’m lying to them by not telling them, but they wouldn’t understand. That I trust you, I mean. God knows why, after the stunt you pulled tonight, but I do. They wouldn’t understand that.” I want to hold him so much, right now, but we’re still on delicate ground and I don’t want to push my luck. “I suppose you’ll still hunt?”

“Suppose I will, pet. Can’t survive on brownies. Not like some people. You said I was the fox, remember. That’s what we do. It’s our nature.”

“I know. Will you try not to kill?”

“I can try, pet. But I can’t promise you I won’t.”

“Okay. Well, obviously not okay, but like you say, it’s in your nature. Like it’s mine to try to stop people being hurt. Guess this really is going to be an interesting trip.”

He’s standing by the passenger door, staring at his shoes and I can almost see the reality of his choices sinking into his bones. His car’s undercover, the gang think he’s gone and they won’t be looking for him. Should he really do this? I want to push him into the car and get moving, and leave this hell hole behind us, but I know that giving him the time now will save a lot of grief later on. I light another fag and he looks up, as the lighter clicks shut.

“One last thing. What happens when I want to go a different way? If I want to come home. You said you’d let me. Did you mean it?” That’s the question I really hoped he wouldn’t ask, but if I don’t get this right he’ll probably bolt right now.

“Yes, pet. I meant it. I’ll let you go. Doesn’t mean I’ll want to. Doesn’t mean I’ll be happy. Doesn’t mean I’ll not try to talk you out of it. But if you’re set on it, then yes, I won’t stop you. Although I might follow you. I’m told I can get right annoying, when I want something.”

“You don’t say.”

He’s staring at me and the air seems to hang, thick and heavy between us, and I wonder for the hundredth time, what’s going through his head, until he nods sharply. “Okay. I believe you. You said you wouldn’t lie to me about anything really important. So, let’s go. Time’s a wasting and I really don’t want to hang around Sunnydale any longer.” And just like that, the deal’s done and this boy will never stop surprising me. He slides into the passenger seat, shoving his pile of music onto the floor and looks at me expectantly. “Well, blondie. Are you coming, or do I have to drive this heap myself.”

“Watch it, pet. No trashing the wheels. This is a classic and don’t you forget it. And you definitely won’t be getting to drive, so get that out of your head, right now.” I stub out my fag and ease myself into the driver’s seat, turning on the engine as I go.

“So, pet. We’ll get going, then. Got a date with a rollercoaster.”

“Yeah, right. Why do I think I’m in for a hell of a ride, before we even get there?”

That’s my boy. Bravest thing I’ve come across in 100 years. He’s dreaming of rollercoasters and we’re right at the top of the climb, teetering on the brink. Time to take off the brake and launch right over the edge. Who knows where the hell we’re going to land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to say as well, the bit about the spiked brownies was "inspired" by Kalima's truly wonderful [Nicolette Says Jump](http://www.echonyc.com/~stax/Buffy/kalima/nicolettesays.htm). If you haven't read it, do yourself a favour and get right to it. You won't be disappointed.
> 
> The next part of the Perceptions 'verse is Diversions. 


End file.
